Again…again.

This word. Again.

It keeps coming up on the daily. We’re out of milk, again. It’s time to pay the water bill, again. I don’t love you, again…

I won’t say I didn’t have reservations about being twice married. I did. But…I was so in love with our supposed “love story”. Dated briefly one time. Went our separate ways. Married other people. Found our way back to each other after our respective divorces. It was all so tied up neatly in that perfect little cartoon bow. We seemed to love each other enough to make it through whatever came our way.

There were so many things that little bow just couldn’t hold. The ultimatums. The let downs. The lies. So. Very. Many. Lies. What do you do when you realize that little bow was just another lie? It wasn’t a pretty, lacy, fluffy number, but a black, rotting to the touch, piece of slime that your recoil from. I hid. Hid behind motherhood. Hid behind streaming services. Hid behind food. While he lied to me about how he felt about me, I lied to myself about staying with him. I didn’t want to be divorced, again. Again. A.G.A.I.N.

Life has a funny way of smacking you in the face with reality. That reason we broke up the first time would be the reason he filed for divorce, after I caught them together, of course. Again. I went through the rollercoaster ride of emotions I went through with my first divorce – feeling low, hating myself, not doing more, doing too much – again. I thought of the kids. How could they possibly go through this and not be gutted? Could I be a single mom again? Again?!?!

Even now, with some several months of the whole dirty, final business of it all behind us, how do I do this life stuff again? How do I begin to find me again? I gave us