I never believed in divorce. I believed that marital vows were forever and you worked problems out.
I didn't think I'd be "that person" in a bad marital situation.
Over the last eight months, the "stable" home life I lived became utterly intolerable. Through much soul-searching and prayer, I made a decision I never dreamed I'd make. For reasons I will not go into here, I ultimately filed for divorce. I moved out about six weeks ago to a temporary home until the townhouse I am buying goes through the short sale process.
In that six weeks, I've noticed some changes. For example, food had become a means to an end for me – I cooked because I had to eat. Now, when I walk in the door after work or when I wake up on the weekend, I rub my hands together in glee that I get to create.
I had stopped singing for the joy of it. No jitterbugging around the kitchen to Stevie Nicks while I cooked. Laughter was hard to come by.
I simply closed down. To protect myself, I think.
Now? Tunes are rocking all the time. I sing at the top of my lungs. I cook. I bake. I am happy. I have found a measure of peace. I feel like me again. Recipe scribbles are showing up on scraps of paper. This is the beginning of the rest of my life and I intend to start as I mean to go on.