Marriage, Mothering, and Surrendering to What Is, 5.14.24

 (** This is being published 2 months after it was created because it took that long to work up the courage to put it out there.) 

41 years ago today, I got married. I was 17 and Gary was 22. We dated for 3 1/2 years and were married for 20 1/2. Our marriage ended in 2004. And even though it ended, 24 years and 3 amazing kids does not equate to failure, at least in my book. Do I wish it lasted longer? Yes, no doubt about it. I wish I would have tried harder. I wish I would have been stronger for my kids. But, in the end, a 17 year old girl wants and needs very different things than the 37 year old woman she would become. 

Ending my marriage was the hardest thing I ever did, until I had to watch my kids lose their dad to a stupid, ridiculous, freak, and very preventable accident. Suddenly, the guilt I had about our divorce was compounded by the fact that I thought his death was my fault.  My immediate thought after Gary died was, "If we had still been together still, this wouldn't have happened." I know now that it was irrational to think that way, but still, that thought, that belief, would hang over me for years. 

Since he died, I tried to make up for his absence by being there for my kids as a mom and, because I couldn't replace their dad, an "extra" mom. I became an overprotective, hovering mom. I know now that it wasn't healthy and what they really needed was counseling, but at the time, that thought never crossed my mind. I believed that being that "extra" mom was what they needed. All I knew was what was once our family of five (yes, even being divorced, we were still the "original five") was suddenly a family of four and it was up to me to fill the gap and keep it all together. Over time, this became my favorite quote:

 This worked well enough for two of our kids, but not so much for the other. Ultimately, trying to protect our family as a whole,  cost me (us) one more member. We were (are) now down to three. Now I have to be a mother to that child from a distance. Not really much physical distance, in miles, but a distance in mind and spirit that may as well be a million miles. If you have never had to grieve someone who is still alive, consider yourself lucky. There is really no explaining it. It's both a physical and emotional pain you can never recover from because there is no closure. They are just gone. They may come back. They may never come back. 

Even though I will never fully recover, with support and guidance from family and friends, I was able to transform my guilt and grief into growth and healing. I had to heal myself from things I really didn't know needed healing. It's been a long haul, but I made it my mission to get to the other side of it. I was eventually able to look at myself objectively, from outside of my ego, and take responsibility for my part, good or bad, in any one of my relationships.  I know now that I can only control what I think and do. I can't control what other people do, say, think, believe, want, etc.- even my own child. I have to be okay with what is, with the way things are now, even though they are not the way I imagined them.

Now, 8 years later, I feel stronger than I have ever felt.  I'm at a place where I feel confident helping others. I can see now how much I have to be thankful and grateful for. I've surrounded myself with loving, supportive people who show me and teach me every day how to be a better wife, mom, daughter, sister, teacher, friend, co-worker. I can now see that the 24 years that Gary and I had together, having and raising our kids, were the most meaningful and formative years of my life. Continuing his legacy, our legacy, of nurturing our kids and grand kids as much as possible, and just being a good human by helping others as much as possible, is exactly what I am supposed to be doing with my life. All of it- all of the good stuff and all of the hard stuff- led me to this place. And I can honestly say, it's an amazing place.

Being transparent and honest about our story, who we are, good and bad, is my way of paying forward the help that I received. It's the helping legacy I mentioned earlier. Telling our story is cathartic to me, but, hopefully, it also leads others to a place of healing. Hopefully,  it helps someone else out there realize that there is a beautiful life even through all of the messy, painful, hard times. 

Be Still. Be Strong. Be Happy. ~ Juli

P.S. If you can relate to any of this, and need an ear, I've become a pretty good listener.  Also, a book that helped me tremendously: Loving What Is, by Byron Katie. If you are not a reader, look her up on YouTube or try an audio version of the book. She helps you see things from a totally different perspective. 

Hearing other people sharing their stories and putting themselves out there in a vulnerable way helped me as well. Seek out those people. Then, tell YOUR story. Saying things out loud to someone who is listening deeply and not judging you, changes everything.