She is better than happy. She is free

Two and a half years ago I sat face to face with the man I had spent fifteen years building a life with.

I looked him dead in the eyes and listened as the explanation of his betrayal spilled from his tongue.

“Stormy, I’m going to fuck her“

His eyes moved from the garage floor back to my face as if to gauge my reaction.

“When I left the house, I was so mad. I was so hurt. I got dressed up and went out, fully intending to pick up some random chick, but realized.. I do not even know how to do that. So, I called her.

He went on to explain how, after our last fight he had decided that was it. That he could not force himself to do it anymore. Not that I blame him, we had long since been over. It was only a matter of time before we either killed each other, or ourselves.

We had not slept in the same room as each other for eight months and only mumbled a few words here and there in passing. We were roommates. Nothing more. Neither willing to end it though.

He had left our house and he had gotten ahold of HER.

How told me that she and he had discussed meeting up and what they would do.

And how he was GOING TO FUCK HER.

That he just thought it would be best to hear it from him then to find out through the grapevine.

For that- I will always respect him.

I deserved that much.

All the messages that I had found on his phone over the years from her.

The pictures she had sent him.

The conversation she and I had as I asked her to leave him alone and she responded with “We are just friends, why are you being this way”

All the times I unfriended her on his Facebook, just to find them to be friends again weeks later.

All the ugly screaming matches he and I had about HER.

All the tears I had cried. All the times I looked in the mirror and told myself:

“Maybe if you had dimples and pretty blue eyes like her he would love you“

All the heartbreak I had been avoiding.

All the shit that I had swept under the rug for years was now swirling in front of my face as my rug of security was being violently ripped from under me and I now had nowhere to hide all of our dirty secrets.

I could no longer pretend they were not there.

My entire world shattered into a million pieces on the cold cement garage floor.

Everything I had ever tried to convince myself was real was not.

I was devastated. I was heartbroken. I felt so alone.

But more than anything; I was scared.

I didn’t know how I would pick up the pieces and move on by myself. I had no faith in myself. I was terrified that I would not be able to hold myself together for my children. I was terrified that I would turn into my mother.

For a long moment, I sat and pondered.

After all of this- could I stay?

Could I pretend this wasn’t real?

I felt so much shame for even asking myself this. The minute I realized that shame meant that I most definitely could not pretend any longer is the minute I finally started to listen to myself.

That night I thought my whole life was over.

Little did I know- it was just beginning.

I spent the next several months slowly working on my ability to look at my reflection and not hate what I saw there.

I got up every day.

I brushed my hair, curled my eyelashes, put the dress on, even when all I wanted to do was sleep.

I knew that no matter how hard it was I had to keep going.

Most days, I wanted to give up. I wanted to crawl back into the dark hole I had dug and hide there.

Forever.

I wanted to go back to the comfortability and stability that my rug of dirty secrets provided for me.

I wanted to be numb again.

I wanted to forget and continue as though none of this ever happened.

But there was always a pull, deep within me.

Always just a sliver of hope, that one day, this will all be worth it.

Even on the nights, I spent in the fetal position on the bathroom floor.

Ugly crying for hours.

Purging the years I had not allowed myself to feel anything.

My reflection didn’t just mirror back bloodshot eyes so swollen they wouldn’t open.

It mirrored back just enough hope to keep going.

Even if it were for just one more day.

Keep going.

Eventually, I found it easier to look at my reflection.

Sitting in front of my mirror and affirming myself became less uncomfortable.

I spent fewer days craving the darkness of my hole and more time wanting to soak up the glorious golden rays of the sun.

That is when God sent me sunshine in human form.

This man was handpicked and made especially for me.

Everything about him was magical.

From the very first messages we exchanged to the last time he snuggled me up and held me close in his bed. Every moment of our time together felt like home. I felt safe with him. For the first time in what felt like lifetimes parts of me that I had tried to kill off were allowed space to be free.

Little Stormy was safe to play with him because he felt like home to her. She was not judged nor ridiculed. She was not looked down upon.

For the first time, ever, she was not just accepted but she was admired.

She was safe.

I had never given her the acceptance that he did.

No one had.

She was free.

Sunshine left my life as quickly as he had found his way into it.

My world had once more shattered.

I was thrown into the deepest depths of my codependency that I had ever known.

Drowning in my NEED for him to keep little Stormy alive because I had no clue how to do it for myself.

After two weeks of a disgusting display of depression, I found myself once more staring at a reflection that I did not recognize. This was not me.

I mean yes; this is who I had allowed myself to become.

Sadness. Avoiding accountability. Keeping myself a victim. Giving in to the numbness.

These are all characteristics of who I had allowed myself to become.

Coping mechanisms that had allowed me to survive for thirty-three years.

That day I looked at my reflection and decided I was no longer surviving.

I was going to live.

That day I decided I would no longer look for the sunshine in others, I would find it in myself because I knew it was there.

Somewhere.

I knew that underneath all the shit the world told me I should believe lay the shit I actually believed.

I knew that underneath all the insecurities that I had developed by comparing myself to others were all the things that I actually loved about myself.

I knew that underneath all the lies I had told myself about who I “should” be was who I actually am.

I knew that outside of the hole I had dug myself to hide in when things got scary- was freedom.

And I was going to find it.

Today- I am still working, every day to find it.

To live it.

To keep it.

These are pictures that my best friend captured of me.

This is me.

In my purest form.

Today- I know that little Stormy stands back and admires me as much as I admire her.

We work well together.

I have learned that the only way I can keep myself from crawling back into that deep dark hole that I so quickly dig myself, is to quiet my mind and listen to my gut.

To allow little Stormy the stage when she desires it.

To validate her need to be seen.

She is the magic within me.

She is the brilliant light of the lighthouse that will guide thousands of ships to shore safely.

She is a beautiful mess of truth and pure love.

She is Yellow in a world that is told to be blue.

She is the rebel that throws a tantrum deep in my soul when injustice is observed.

She is the sunshine I searched for outside of myself.

She is who I was meant to be before the world got a hold of me and created someone else.

She is my truth.

And is my wild.

She will forever be safe with me

She is better than happy.

She is free.

Photo credit goes to my very best friend.

Thank you Kristin Allphin for taking the time to see my soul.

To love me for me.

For always giving me space to be wild.

You are amazing

And I fucking love you.