She sent me an email earlier today saying she wanted to come by and do a final walk-through of the house to get the last of what she needed, and leave her house key behind afterward. I’m torn. Part of me is ready to be able to clean out the house, even though it will mean leaving rooms feeling even more empty. Part of me is sad because it’s another step towards the finality of divorce, the end of this chapter of my life. It’s something she’s already told me to accept, in no uncertain terms, and I think I have accepted it. I know she has been reading all this blog all along. I know she read the previous entry, once last night and once again right before sending that email. Maybe she sees that as me moving on. Maybe she wants to “get out of the way” of whatever that might become. Maybe she’s finally pissed off and wants to come trash the house when I’m not there. Maybe she cried all night because of it. Maybe she’s ‘happy’ for me. I say all these maybes because we’re not talking. All this progress I feel I’m making on opening up and sharing and being the man I should’ve been long before now, and she doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m not blaming her. I’m not angry at her for it. I hurt her, and her reaction is based on her feelings and most likely appropriate for her situation. She’s a smart woman, and it’s absolutely her right to decide that she doesn’t want to talk to me.
Part of me wants to have that conversation with her. Part of me wants her to see that I’m trying, to see that at least parts of me have changed beyond what I say in this blog. Part of me wants her to know how terribly sorry I am for the pain I’ve caused her. Part of me doesn’t want to drag it out. Part of me just wants her to be able to move on and find her happiness with someone else, and maybe even forget about me. There is a problem with every previous sentence in this paragraph: “Part of me.” Even now, I’m conflicted. Still holding back. Still unsure about what I want from her, how I want to interact with her. One of the biggest things I’ve been working on lately is being 100% present, committing all of me to a thing, whether I succeed or fail. And if I fail, gathering myself back up, learning from my mistake, and throwing myself 100% into the next thing. (Writing it out like that sounds more self-destructive than it is.)
I’m not done with my growth. I don’t know that I ever will be. I’m not even sure if I ever WANT to be done with it. Every day is a choice, a struggle to choose who I am and how I will think. Every day I wake up, look myself in the mirror and say the same words. Some days I believe them. Some days I don’t. One day I broke a lot of things in rage because I didn’t believe them so powerfully. But more days than not now, I’m believing them, and even on the days that I don’t I confront that negative side of myself and rationalize and defend the part of myself that’s trying to grow. Once I believe them for a full year, though, I’m still not done. That’s when I’ll change the words and face a new challenge, focus on a new area to grow in.