In 2017 I separated from my ex-husband James and we divorced a couple years later. People sometimes ask me if we’re still friends. We are not, but that doesn’t mean there’s any ill will, at least not on my part- I can’t speak for him. Honestly, I would be surprised if he thinks of me much at all. I don’t say that to infer anything in particular; James was simply more of a forward-focused person as opposed to someone who dwells on the past. I, on the other hand, tend to exist in the past and future with equal measure and sometimes, occasionally, I find myself in the present- you know, the only state that is actually real! But I do think that in regards to my ex-husband, my trips down memory lane are due to the fact that we had a father/daughter dynamic for most of our time together, and now more than ever, I am realizing that it manifests in the strangest of ways.
I often find myself wondering what he would think of my life (knowing full well he likely doesn’t). Would he be proud of me? I was pretty sure when I left the Big Box Store and was starting my own business that James would be proud and also concerned that I had no actual business plan. Scratch that. He definitely would NOT have been okay with me leaving a job before I had a legit income source! In fact, I recall the freedom I felt to make such a decision which was only possible because I alone would have to face the consequences.
Now that I am in fact bearing the brunt of my decisions, I can see him shaking his head. Pretty sure he saw this coming- I never was good with money and ambition alone does not make one a good leader. James was both. And had I stayed within the confines of his common sense parameters, I likely would’ve been better off…financially.
For me, James represented safety and security, but something in me decided that after a lifetime of craving those things, they were no longer enough. Oddly, there’s a slow death that I associate with too much predictability; my marriage was suffocating in its constant assuredness. The truth is, I could sense his disappointment in me long before I left. I was the child who would never measure up to his hopes and expectations- a dynamic that does not bode well for any marriage.
Now I know what you’re thinking, that what really matters is what I think of me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t fall into the old patterns of his influence, both the good and bad. It’s human nature.
I remember us once having a discussion about how “The best way to help those who are struggling is to not become one of them.” I fully subscribed to this narrative at the time, but now I believe it’s more complicated than that- I think help is subjective. Perhaps you can’t provide financial assistance if finances are an issue, but you still have energy to exchange and time to give. I wonder what Mother Theresa would’ve thought of the above statement and no, I am not comparing myself to her incredible legacy.
I suppose the bigger question (one I’ll be asking for the rest of my days) is what is the definition of a life well lived? And who gets to decide what qualifies as such?
Depending on how I frame my situation I am either a loser who at forty-nine still struggles to support herself and realize her purpose; or I am merely navigating a rough patch designed to shape me into the person I am meant to become.
If I’m honest, I vacillate between the two mindsets, however I try to ask myself which one I would say if it were a friend who was struggling and compassion always wins out. Why is it so difficult to offer ourselves that same kindness? Some things to ponder as we ring in 2026.
I hope you all have a Happy New Year!
Please take care of each other and most of all, yourselves:)