I’ve been meaning to write for weeks. I have words, sentences circulating in my head. And when they are there they are so real. Vivid. Encompassing. And then they go. And I can’t find them again.
Music. I can’t listen to it. Well. Not my music. It makes me feel sick. The memories. Us. London. Monty. Suffolk. The good times. The bad. And even though the bad was awful. It was still mine. My time. Our time.
And now I’ve been replaced.
And I don’t dare turn on the radio. It blindsides me. Takes my breathe away. The devastation.
And I can’t be sad in front of our baby girl. It upsets her. She doesn’t understand why. I can’t put her through that.
I feel like a part of my soul is missing at the moment. Music is a part of me. And that part is now empty.
So many words. So many I can’t write. It is my story. But it’s his too. And whilst I want to be truly honest about what’s happened. What’s happening. I can’t. Because it betrays trust. Not that he should have mine. Not any more.
He’s moving. In with his new family. And the impact on me. On our daughter. Our dog. It’s huge. Things are going to get hard. My steely side is coming through. Having to make decisions I never thought I’d have to. Fighting battles I never thought would be mine. But I have to. I can’t not.
But it means I’m moving back to London too. Back to ‘our home’. That became his. With her. Temporarily. When she stayed there. And I need to be fully ok with that when I move. Make it mine again. Which I will.
But I feel broken. Not for him. For my family. The baby that was meant to be this year. That would have been arriving any minute now. Our plan.
And then. He met her.
And I’m grieving for that. Nearly 40. Not knowing how I’ll meet someone new. Always out and about with my child. No way to subtly say I’m single.
And it’s overwhelming.
Grief. Self Blame. What did I do wrong. Why wasn’t I enough. Why weren’t we enough. Why is someone else. Their children. Their dog. Enough.
So I sit. In my parents garden. In the sunshine. With tears streaming down my face. Trying to comprehend. To understand. To truly know. This was for the best. This is what’s meant to be. This is not it. I will not be alone. There will be happiness.
Because I’m exhausted from repeatedly picking myself up.
