💕

It’s strange when you detonate your life. There’s no plan anymore for what’s next.

Before this year if you’d asked me where I would be in 5, 10, 15 years I would have given you a confident answer. I would have naively believed it was written in stone. Now I know nothing is promised. 2020, hindsight is a mother fucker.

But now I know there’s no definitive answers, now I’m examining all these blue prints and wondering if any of it will still hold. And if I want it to. Where do I want to live? What do I want to do? What kind of life do I picture for myself in 10 years? What do I want to wake up to? I still don’t know, and in some ways the lack of answers feels like it’s own freedom.

My husband is still very angry with me. He still won’t go to treatment or make any sustained attempt to get help, but he’s been sober which is a big effort. We are still separate, seeing each other only when we trade off kid-duty. Our exchanges are short, focused on the children instead of each other. I look forward to the day where he can look at me like a friend again, warm.

I’m trying to be positive and lead with kindness. It’s hard sometimes, but I can do it. It’s difficult managing mutual friends, people who love me but don’t see how drinking around him feels like an act of war. I have to accept that there’s things I can’t control. That’s hard for addicts and enablers. I’m hopeful that with more practice this new phase will get easier.

In the mean time life with the kiddos is more peaceful, and I’m finding more space to run the kind of low-stress home I dreamed of. It’s a gift every day.

I’ve been trying to find more time for writing too, and submitting here and there. Including contributing to Stoya’s advice column this week at Slate. Check it out here.

I hope your week is going well, thanks again for being in my corner over here. 💕