A letter to my ex-husband

Dear Ex-Husband, It’s taken me 5 ½ years to write this letter. It’s long overdue. Until now, I haven’t been able to separate myself from our divorce and the after years. My existence has been wrapped up in every flaw that you told me I had, every joke that you made at my expense, every door that you closed on me. After you left, I filled the years with what-ifs, maybe’s, and if only’s. What if I was prettier, would he have stayed? Maybe if I were smarter. If only I was enough. Never in my mind did I think it wasn’t my fault. I believed I had failed everything that I was supposed to be – woman, wife, and mother. I believed that I had failed you and our children. I could not keep my husband happy; I could not keep their dad happy. And I tried. I tried so hard. Every time I was out, I thought about what surprise I could get you. I wondered what meal I could make to get you excited for dinner. I always thought about you, always missed you, and always wanted you home. Besides the kids, you were my everything – my best friend, my balance, my strength, my truth. You normalized me, and you made me feel loved in a way I had never been. Because of you, I had purpose. And then…you broke me. When you came home from work that night, you broke me. You had to leave because you didn’t think you loved me anymore. I begged and pleaded with you to stay and talk to me. To tell me what was wrong. “Please don’t go,” I whimpered. “Please talk to me,” I cried. But you left. At 10 o’clock that night, you walked out the back door, drove away, and broke me. After that night, my existence, my truth shriveled. The love I believed, the love I thought I had was gone. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing seemed real anymore. I remember sitting in a utility closet, speechless, staring, stunned. I was dying inside, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. And then you came back. Once, twice, three, four times. Every time, you begged me. You loved me. You wanted me. And every time I gave myself to you. But in the end, after a day, after a week, after a few weeks, you couldn’t stay. You said I wasn’t the same person. You said I didn’t trust. All those times you came back, I lost a little more of myself. I didn’t know what to do, who to be, or how to act. I didn’t want to push you away, I didn’t want to make you unhappy, I didn’t want you to go. So I tried to be what I thought you wanted. I tried to be quiet, to be easy, to be loving. I put myself aside for you. Because I really wanted you to stay, I really wanted you to love me. But you didn’t. So often I would feel anger and rage inside, but I never let it out. Because even though we were officially ex-husband and ex-wife, I still wanted to be the perfect ex-wife. I wanted to make you proud. I wanted to keep my chances alive of you coming back to me, to us, to our family. As naïve and ridiculous as that sounds, that’s the only thing I could anchor myself to – the hope that maybe somewhere inside you, you still loved me. I desperately needed you to love me because my greatest fear was that I was unlovable. And being married to you took that fear away. And now I had to face it. I wrestled with that fear for a long time. I believed that fear. If you, the only person I ever fully trusted, fully believed in, could throw me out, then I had to be an unlovable monster. I just had to be. I was certain that you were right. And that’s how I existed for a really long time. Thinking, believing, and feeling like I was trash. I’d cower when I saw you. I was embarrassed because I knew what you were thinking of me. Look at her…she is so fat, so ugly, so pathetic. So many nights, I would cry and plead with God to make me different. Please God, if you could only make me pretty and skinny, then I will feel okay. I will be okay. But every morning I had to wake up the same person I was when I went to sleep. I had to wake up and be me. And I didn’t want to. Yet, God had other plans. He wasn’t making me skinny, and he wasn’t making me pretty. He was making me…me. It wasn’t going to be easy to face, and it hasn’t been easy to face. But…I’m doing it. Not perfectly, but I’m doing it. It helps that I have some people on my side. People who tell me I’m not pathetic. People who tell me I’m beautiful. People who tell me I’m special. And even though I don’t fully believe them, I’m starting to want to. I’m starting to be able to separate myself from you. I’m able to think about what happened and remove some of the blame that you and I placed on myself. I know I wasn’t perfect. I was imperfectly flawed. But I’m starting to believe that I didn’t deserve what you did to me. I didn’t deserve to be to emotionally abused, I didn’t deserve to be hurt, I didn’t deserve to be unloved. And today, I can finally sit and write this long overdue letter. I can make sense of some things, and when I’m stuck in the dark thoughts, the dark times, I don’t stay there very long. Because I’m starting to want life separate from you, separate from the divorce, separate from my hurt. I want joy. I want peace. Most importantly, I want to be good enough. Not for anyone, but for myself.