“Did you try to save your marriage?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “I did, for so many years. I tried to be the woman he needed me to be, to give him what he needed. And by the time he woke up and realized his own anger and insecurities, by the time he was willing to work on himself, it was too late for me. I was already gone.” I shrugged, disappointment in myself settling in deep. “I never gave him the chance to fight for me. I didn’t have anything left to give.”
“That doesn’t make you selfish,” she said. “If anything, it shows that you did so much to try to make it work. Listen, I know it’s hard—even if you were the one who left—because you loved him. You still do. And you didn’t want to hurt him or anyone else, including your mom. You just wanted to not feel sick anymore. You wanted to live again. And there’s nothing wrong with that, Wren.”
Momma Von scooted to the edge of her seat so she could put a hand on my knee.
“Sometimes we get so far down a path because we want nothing more than for it to be the right one, but the truth of the matter is we can’t force it to be. You were smart enough to realize the path you’d been walking down wasn’t the one you wanted for your life, and instead of continuing to walk on it anyway, you found the strength to turn back, to veer off, to cut through the weeds to find a new, albeit, unpaved one.” She smiled, squeezing me gently. “That’s not easy. And it’s not going to be perfect on the next path you find, either. But you’re still walking, babe, and that is what perseverance looks like.”
My eyes were so dry, yet they stung like tears were ready to build again. I rubbed my lips together, eyes closed tight.
“I just feel so broken, Momma Von,” I choked out. “I can’t sketch, I can’t help my designers with next year’s line, I can’t even be a good friend or daughter right now. Before Anderson, just waking up and existing was hard. And now, my mom is right,” I finally admitted. “He’s distracting me. He makes me feel good, he makes me happy, and because of that when I’m around him, I don’t think about what I came out here to digest. I’m not thinking about Keith or my life up until this point or what the future holds or what I want. And I don’t know what to do because it hurts to think about those things.” I hung my head, digging the heel of my hands into my eyes. “Everything just hurts.”
My chest sparked with another ache as if to mirror my words, to prove they were true. Momma Von scooted even closer, pulling me over the small table until she sort of held me in her arms, rocking me slightly.
“You want forgiveness,” she finally said. “From Keith, from your family, but what you don’t realize, peaches, is you are the only person who can give yourself the forgiveness you seek.” She smoothed a hand over my head. “It will never come from them, and you have to let that go and be at peace with it so you can eventually be at peace with yourself, too.”
I cried, though no tears came out. Her words hit me harder than any book I’d read, any advice I’d been given from Adrian. She was right. I wanted to be forgiven, and I felt like I never would be. I was so tired of apologizing, and yet it was all I knew how to do.
“Let me ask you something,” she said, pulling back and holding my arms in her hands as she caught my eyes. “You’re going through a divorce, Wren. Don’t you think it’s about time you let yourself actually go through it?”
“I am.”
She shook her head. “No, no, you’re not. You’re trying to move on. You’re trying to keep being the Wren you’ve always been, maybe even a better version of her. You’re trying to sketch, to work, to find love and give love and wake up every day with the mindset that you can still take over the world. You’re afraid to let yourself feel,” she said, calling me out. “You’re afraid of failure, and you feel it in every aspect of your life right now. You think you’ve failed as a wife, as an artist, as a friend. But the truth is you aren’t broken, you haven’t failed. You’re still going through a divorce,” she said the word with emphasis, leaning down until I looked her in the eyes again. “So fall apart. Cry, throw things, remember the good times and the bad and then let them go. And before you close your eyes, each and every night, forgive yourself.”
I nodded, wiping my nose with the back of my wrist. I wanted to curl in on myself, find relief from the constant pain in my heart and chest and stomach. I wanted to forgive myself, I just didn’t know how.
After I left Momma Von’s, I went straight home and up into my bathroom. I showered without turning on my speaker, but as soon as I padded back into the living room, I powered it on and poured a tall glass of wine.
Then, I shuffled through my phone until I found the forbidden playlist, the one filled with songs from my relationship with Keith.
Our first date, first dance at our wedding, songs that he’d dedicated to me, songs that reminded me of him. I played it loud, drank my wine, and looked through social media at all the photos from our past.
He called me at ten, the same time he always did, and that was my only indicator of what time it was at all that entire night. Because after I let the rings die out, I stayed there on the couch, laptop plugged in and wine bottle in a bucket of ice on the table. I refilled my glass, replayed the songs, and let myself feel.
I marveled at the good times, at the days and nights we were happiest. I also sobbed at how far back I could scroll through our pictures and see myself so unhappy. My decision hadn’t been made overnight, but had rather cooked slowly for years. I saw us smiling at a friend’s cookout, but my heart remembered the fight in the car when we left. I saw us holding hands as we walked the Pike Place market, but my heart remembered how that day marked nearly three months of no intimacy between us.
I understood now why my friends and family had been so shocked at my decision. How could they understand when all I’d shown them for years was endless love and happiness?
I’d kept my heart covered, my emotions chained, and tonight I would finally give myself permission to let them free.
By the time my head hit the pillow, I was emotionally exhausted. My eyes were swollen, head pounding, and though it hurt like hell, I knew I had to fight to forgive myself. I didn’t know when it would happen, or even if it was possible, but I owed it to myself to try.
So, before I closed my eyes, I reached over to the bedside table and pulled up the playlist once more. For a moment I stared at the screen, chest tight with memories, and then I let my thumb drop to tap the delete button.
I wasn’t going to argue with myself anymore over whether my choices had been selfish or brave. I didn’t care if they were either. Because they were right, for me. This was my life, and I only had one. I didn’t know how long it would be, I didn’t know who would be in it, but I did know that I deserved to live it.
Happily.
And that’s what I intended to do.
METAMORPHOSIS
meta·mor·pho·sis
Noun
A striking alteration in appearance, character, or circumstances
Dani hated the pig roast.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love being around all our family and friends, but she hated the fact that the day centered around cooking an animal—especially when said animal still looked like a cute little pig. She’d only watched us lower the pig into the ground once, and after that, she’d never eaten at the pig roast again. In fact, she declared herself vegan on that very day, and she was true to her word until the day she passed away.