“I’m a thinner, healthier, more well-rounded person for having known you.
I think that’s pretty fucking awesome, to be honest with you.”
– Lucy (my wife).
Her reply when I asked her, in an honest conversation, what we gave to each other in our time together.
We are separating.
Right now, in the middle of it, it’s hard to find the right frame.
I don’t want to paint a rosy picture and say ‘It was meant to turn out this way’ or ‘It’s for the best’. It’s years too early for that.
And I also realise that dwelling on the guilt of how I could have done things better isn’t constructive either.
But in truth, as I see it, our relationship broke down because of my failure, refusal or inability to take responsibility.
I let her take the lead; in organising almost everything, in house finances, and the day-to-day logistics of life.
And while I can say that with a girl like Lucy, who steps up and does that straight away, it’s easy to just let that happen – it eventually eroded her respect for me. And ultimately her love.
She realised she didn’t need me. And that she’d be better off without me.
And I feel guilt around that.
Guilt that’s it’s led to us separating, and for the reality that our daughter Cadence will grow up with parents in different houses.
I grieve. For the family future and life that won’t be. And most of all for the impact it will have on Cadence, whatever that is.
It’s far too early to put a positive spin on it. Regardless of the well-intentioned, and perhaps true, words from the handful of people I’ve told about it.
That it may be, or is, for the best. And that two happy parents sharing her in the healthiest and most productive way possible is far better than her growing up in a household where her parents don’t love each other as they could, or should. And the relationship model that could imprint on her.
It’s just fucking hard.
And I grieve.
Lucy said that today Cadence asked, “Where’s Daddy?”
“Daddy’s at work”
“I miss Daddy”
I’m aware that I might project my pain and sensitivity onto her. But it’s easy to do that.
And it hurts.
I’ve started writing my blog again and posting YouTube videos. It’s cathartic and meaningful.
In a strange way, I find something inside me is activated by this situation. There’s a part of me that feels that this pain is part of my journey. And it’s motivating me to write, and express, and create – with more purpose and passion than I’ve felt before.
Something I’ve been searching for, for a long time.
Not this situation. But its significance.
I can use this to create something good.
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