Yesterday as I was struggling through a commute that I have been loathing for almost 10 years, I smiled to myself. The window was down, the music was on, my hair was blowing lightly in the few gaps where I got to drive above 10mph, and I couldn’t WAIT to get home. My dog was ready to walk, my kids were at their dad’s and I had major plans to clean and do laundry. Sounds crazy, I know.
But picture the same commute just two and a half years ago, my hands gripping the wheel, I’m nearly in tears, and I want to skip my exit and stay on the road until I hit the ocean or ANYTHING except my house. This happened on a weekly basis for the majority of 2019. I felt trapped, and I could not see a future that was different.
My house is not mine anymore, although it proved to be the best investment I ever made because while I’m no longer a homeowner, I am debt free, ready to go back to school (third time’s the charm, hopefully), starting my kids’ college funds, investing in my own retirement, and finally self-sufficient. I’m not so much a late bloomer as someone who had a very extended mid-life crisis and tried very hard to derail herself for several years. It was as though I was caught in a rip current and instead of swimming parallel to it, I panicked and struggled against it for so long that I ALMOST succumbed.
I am alone but not lonely. Other than only getting my kids for half of their lives, which quite frankly sucks, I am a whole person, a better parent, and hopefully a better friend. I have a dog and a king-sized bed all to myself and fucking autonomy. I don’t have much else. I rent a two-bedroom apartment. My kids have to share a room and the kitchen cabinets are falling apart and the toilet runs and people let their dogs shit all over the grass but also, it borders a lovely park with tennis courts and walking trails and my kids play outside for hours when they’re with me.
Little things that might feel meaningless or mundane to other people were big wins for me: I bought a TV. I set up my own internet. I know how to use the goddamn remote. I have a budget. I splurge on monthly massages but only use to-go containers as tupperware and NO ONE can tell me I shouldn’t do those things. Or that I sing too loud while I’m cooking dinner. Or that I laughed too loud at that episode. Or that I’m shouting when I get animated. If they do, I can kick them out. I don’t have to go to bed, seething quietly beside them, wondering if I hate them or myself more.
Those things are in my past, and given all that’s happened in the last 2–3 years, and all the ways we tried to bring each other down, my ex and I get along pretty well now.
I am not a failure. I am not perfect. There is still a lot I have to work through, first and foremost addressing the feeling that I don’t deserve any of the kindness people have shown or will show me. It is far easier for me to love than be loved. Am I a good person? I don’t know. I’m trying, though. And I feel content, at ease, and like myself…this is who I am, and I can accept that now.
And I can’t wait to get home.
