A lot has happened since the last time I blogged. In fact, so much has changed that there is no
easy place to start. I guess it doesn’t
really matter where I start because this post, my dear readers, is
reflective. If you are expecting some
cute story about my crazy children I must warn you that this is not it. This one is about the “Fireman’s Wife” tattoo
on my arm… (cue the dramatic dun dun dun!)
Those who know me, know that I have a tattoo on my arm of a
fire truck with a banner that marked me (much like chattel) as a ‘Fireman’s
Wife.’ Obviously I got the tattoo when I
was married to my ex-husband; in fact, it was my first anniversary gift. At the time so many people asked me why on
earth I would permanently mark myself as belonging to someone and I would
simply answer with, “I didn’t get married to get divorced.” According to my 24 year old self, the concept
was that simple, you get married and live happily ever after (cue the spoons to
gag me with). Lord bless me and my naïveté.
I got married when I was 23 years old. Looking back, I had no business being
married, and neither did my ex-husband.
We were two people who had, and still have, completely different
constitutions. I chose not to make a
public spectacle of our separation and divorce because it was, and still is, no
one else’s business. I knew that
anything negative I had to say would directly affect my children in an
extremely damaging way. To me, keeping
an online record of posts where I eluded to my ex-husbands perceived wrongs
would not help any of us at all. I was
done and there was no going back and the details of why are between my ex and I
and should stay there. In keeping to
myself, I never had the chance to tell my side of the story which I must admit,
made me bitter.
Now don’t be get your hopes up, I am not planning on
disclosing my side of the story. In
fact, I am sure if you took the time to talk to both of us you’d find that we
have very different sides to the same story which goes back to that damn
constitution thing. What I am willing to
disclose is what I have learned about a small piece of where I went wrong and what
I have learned from that (which explains the tattoo).
My ex-husband once told me that he never saw me doing
anything with my life. I was devastated
by his revelation because that is not how I saw myself. I was young with two very young children and
wanted nothing more than to go back to school but I needed his help. I finally made the choice that whether I had
his help or not I needed and wanted to have an education. I wanted so much more than being what I had
tattooed on my arm—his wife.
I took a leap of faith
and went back to school where I thrived, it was exhilarating. I loved EVERY moment of my undergraduate
experience (go Dragons!!!!!). I was
academically raised by some of the most incredible professors whom I hold in
the highest esteem. I worked hard and I didn’t have time for anything other than
my kids and school. I was an older than average student and married mother of
small children which made my college experience so much different than most
people. I decided, while my ex was
deployed, that I wanted to go to law school and had my sights set on UND. I took the LSAT and scored much higher than I
ever expected to. That score,
accompanied with my grades, academic references, law school applications and lengthy
interview processes opened doors for me that I never imagined.
I originally committed to Duke University and went as far as
paying money to save my seat. I was
excited for the next chapter of my life.
I had worked hard and was reaping the rewards of that. I assumed that my ex was just as excited,
which I now understand, he was not. He
was on the precipice of something completely different and I didn’t notice
because he wasn’t even on my radar. And
then I was accepted to Harvard…I wasn’t expecting it. Harvard was my long shot choice and I happily
ate the money that I paid for my seat at Duke and chose Harvard.
I took my GRE and enrolled into a duel degree program at
Harvard. I had no clue what I was
getting into. While I loved every moment
of grad school, it was hard. Don’t get me wrong, the hard is what made it good,
but it also became harder to juggle my life.
At that time, my kids BARELY came first, school was a close second, I
came a distant third and my ex wasn’t even on the list. I fully admit I was selfish, I had to be; to
me this was my way of securing our future.
I never once asked him what he wanted our future to look like and to be
honest, we had stopped communicating with each other years before, I assumed (incorrectly)
we had the same goals.
So began the
resentment…I resented him for constantly running away and he resented my
success in school. Towards the end, we
couldn’t even fake affection for each other.
The resentment was so pervasive that when we were together you could feel
it seeping out of our pores, and then everything imploded...the details of the
implosion are ours and I will not remark on them.
After things fell apart, I began to resent Harvard. I would literally cringe when people would
ask me where I went to law school/grad school. I’d usually respond with ‘I went
to school on the east coast’ and if they pried further I would respond with ‘Boston’
or ‘Cambridge.’ I refused to talk much about it. Instead of being proud of my accomplishments
I hid from them. I walked during my
master’s graduation because my mom and Paige came to watch me, but blew off my
law school graduation (which I sincerely regret now). When people would find out about my academic
history many would respond with a barrage of questions regarding what I do and
why I am back living in North Dakota (as if it is a mark of some sort of
failure or something). I chose to stay
here so that my children could spend equal time with both their parents.
I’m not going to lie; I spent years longing to go “home” to
Boston. I loved my life there and it was
hard to adjust to the jarring changes in my life. I was uncomfortable, resentful, and had to
deal with rumors regarding the demise of my marriage. I feigned happiness for
the sake of my children which I am sure they saw right through. I was in a horribly dark and awful place. The thing about horribly dark and awful
places is that you see light in a different way. At first, the only light I had was my
children, my parents and Katie, my best friend from childhood; they were like
lightening bugs, constantly flickering hope in midst of my darkest moments; and
then I reconnected with my college friends, Kayse, Verne, and Kristi…more
lightening bugs; and then I met Bart, Heidi, Katie Y., and my collection of
lightening bugs further illuminated my darkness. I was a jagged mess who was dealing with a plethora
of issues and these people held my hand, collected my tears, let me be crazy,
helped me get by, laughed with me (sometimes at me), cried with me and lived
for me for quite some time. You all had
your hands full, and I am forever indebted to you and am so grateful and love
each every one of you.
Then came Brad. When
he and I met, I was still a mess, but we clicked. We became friends and then started dating. I knew right away that he was different. He has a brilliance that is so very
rare. His intellectual ability combined
with his emotional intelligence makes him a force to be reckoned with. We built our relationship on mutual respect
and admiration. He built his
relationship with my children in the same manner. Brad never wanted to have children (which is
why he managed to make it 42 years without them) but has such an amazing
relationship with them that the kids’ lovingly refer to him as “new daddy”
(yes, they call me “old mommy”).Things started to make sense and I began to see
how a healthy relationship could and should be. Years ago, I bought a candle
with a quote by Henry David Thoreau on it that said “Love must be as much of a
light as it is a flame;” I didn’t fully
understand what Thoreau meant until Brad stepped into my world and became a beacon
of light for me and my children. He pulled me out of my darkness and is a
constant source of love and support. He
is my best friend, companion, biggest fan and loudest cheerleader and I am his. He is, truly, the person who was created for
me and I am eternally grateful to have him.
The love I feel for him is beyond words.
Brad and I got engaged last Christmas. I fully admit, my feelings (as are his)
towards marriage have been complicated. It’s been a slow process because we both have
old wounds that run deep, but we love each other and are committed to our
relationship and the marriage we are working towards. One thing that he has requested is that I get
rid of the fire truck (which I COMPLETELY agree with and understand), and it begged
the question as to why I have put off dealing with the tattoo. I will spare you the endless excuses and get
to the point…I kept it because it reminded me of how bad things can be, that
marriage is bad, that drive is bad, that everything I worked for is bad, and
that people can leave whenever things get tough; all of which is wrong. Marriage isn’t bad, my drive isn’t bad, I
earned what I worked for and I should be proud, and not everyone chooses to
walk when things get hard. My ex-husband and I were married to the wrong
people, OUR marriage was wrong.
My ex-husband got married last month (on my mother’s
birthday) and it made me think about how things change and how far each one of
us has come. I am happy for him and wish
him and his wife nothing but the best. I
am not angry anymore and I don’t resent him anymore. Those awful and dark days are gone and I am
embracing who I am and, like a lotus blossom, I am becoming who I need to be as
a person and as a significant other. The
fire truck tattoo had to go because it no longer belongs to me; it belongs to
his new wife.
So here it is…my coverup…which symbolizes where I am and
why, and I am proud of it. I earned it
and nothing will ever change that.
