Dolly Parton came up on my playlist the other day, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, as I adore Dolly and many of her songs. But when I heard the sweet sounds of “It’s All Wrong But it’s Alright,” piping through the speakers of my vaguely colored minivan I instantly thought, “Yes, that is exactly where I am!” Unfortunately it was not because it’s one of Dolly’s sexier tunes, which it IS, to be sure. Maybe the sexiest one of the whole Dolly Parton oeuvre. Dolly’s had some hot booty calls y’all! She’s not made of wood. And maybe I’ve had a few fun times with guys I knew were oh-so wrong for me – but the song’s actual meaning is not what struck this particular chord. Those scenarios would probably be way more interesting to read about, but too bad, so sad, people! I’m not about to divulge those sort of scandalous details unless you buy me a few drinks…which is actually mostly how I’ve gotten into those very situations, so it would be totally fitting….but I digress.
“It’s all wrong, but it’s alright” pretty much sums me up at this point. It’s been a year since my divorce and there have been countless ups and downs. I still get the feeling that my life is not quite right. It’s not what I expected or hoped for. Being a twice divorced mother of three boys was not something I would have ever predicted or wanted for myself. When I was younger, I always pictured myself living a quiet and organized life. I thought I might have a couple of pug dogs, but likely no other people in my small apartment in Boston or maybe New York, where I could walk everywhere and go to museums and parks or read a lot in my calm and clean home. I was way off in all respects, except for the reading ’cause #booknerd4life, y’all! And yet, it seems to mostly work. Living in Texas was not something I’d dreamed of, but here I’ve been for over 20 years…longer than anywhere else. And I like it here, except in the dead of summer when I am sweaty and grouchy and must always be clutching a frozen margarita. I love my sweet boys and the craziness and fun that they add to my life. I love my house, even though it is messy and filled with nerf guns and fidget spinners and mismatched socks all over the damn place. But I never dreamed I’d be a divorced parent. It’s not what I wanted at all. It still feels hard to accept that this is how I’ll be raising my sons and not in a “family” as I’d expected. It’s not a totally bad thing, mind you. I was talking to another single mother friend and we agreed that being divorced is infinitely less lonely than living in a bad marriage. And it’s true, the last few years of my marriage were some of the saddest and loneliest ones of my life. But even worse than being lonely, I always felt “wrong.” I found myself trying so hard to be different and better, to not fuck things up all the time and to not be so sad. It only succeeded in making me feel like a shell of myself and more and more wrong. I’ve written about it before, how I felt like I had to walk on eggshells around everyone all the time and constantly edit myself so that I didn’t upset anyone or take up too much space. Nobody explicitly asked me to do this, but I just knew that I was “wrong” and I wanted so much to be better.
I haven’t written about details of the end of my marriage, though it is certainly an interesting story and made for some good gossip among those who enjoy that sort of thing. While small humiliations related to it occasionally arise for me, that’s not really the reason I don’t address it in detail. I don’t want to write about it because most of it is not about me at all. I am an afterthought in that story, collateral damage. For me that was the hardest part with which to come to terms. It still feels dehumanizing and terribly sad to me, that I meant so little in that equation. I had so many times where I didn’t feel truly seen or cared for in my marriage…and horrifyingly enough, I was right! While in the marriage, I assumed that this was my fault. I thought maybe I was too messed up to feel truly loved. I squashed myself down in the hopes that if I could just be a better wife and mother, it would make my family work. Of course none of it is or was that simple. In the end I learned that my marriage had almost nothing to do with me, it was about my husband trying to create the illusion of the life that he thought he had to live. He didn’t think of me as my own person and I validated that for him by slowly, but surely ceasing to be one. He is not a cruel person and I don’t believe he purposely set out to deceive me. He was doing what he thought he should do to make his life “right.” And our ending has meant that both of us have the chance to be our true selves and make our own lives. That has to be a good thing.
So as crazy as it sounds to me, I’m still at a place where I’m working at learning to be myself. It’s all wrong, but it’s alright. I know my life is good and my overwhelming feeling about it is that I’m really lucky. My luck is weird, but it’s strong! The greatest assets I have are the amazing people surrounding me and filling my life with support, joy, laughs and love. They are my foundation. This year I’ve slowly started feeling like me again. But I sometimes don’t recognize this person. I still apologize too much and often feel like I need to edit my thoughts and words. I still usually feel like I should be better in some undefinable way. I don’t feel “right” yet. Does anyone? Is that a feeling that most people carry with them all the time, a sureness? I’d like for it to happen for me. I’m still waiting for it.