Am I a terrible person?

Another blogger wrote about how separation is like a series of tidal waves. I cannot agree more. I also cannot think of a better way to describe it. I am processing my feelings. I am moving past the shock, betrayal, and pain. I am doing well. I am happy. And then a wave will hit, without a moments notice. It can be a wedding announcement, a baby announcement, a beautiful family photo. It can be watching a father play with his young son at the pool. It can be a Disney World commercial. It can be the split second I forget that he isn’t my person anymore and I think about texting him about a huge accomplishment I made- years in the making. Then it is the following realization, that he was my person, but I wasn’t his. The waves used to crash over me several times a day, they felt near constant. Now sometimes it is a week or more between waves. But they still come. And they still rock me to the core. They still make me cry. But no longer for the loss of him, but for the loss of who I thought he was. For the loss of the life I thought I lived. For the fear of the future laid out ahead of me. The trail I blaze alone.

My news feed on Facebook is filled with friends who are celebrating their beautiful relationships and expanding their families. My heart overflows for them. I want them all to be happy and blessed.  Another friend has announced their pregnancy. Another of my friends have welcomed their bouncing, healthy baby into the world. Others are celebrating their anniversaries. I am thrilled for them. But, these announcements bring out a side of me that I am terribly ashamed of. So where better to broadcast the parts of me that bring me disgrace, then this very public diary of mine.

Seeing these posts of strong love, joy,  baby bumps, and new family photos fill me with sadness and regret. Before my separation all I would feel is excitement and nostalgia for these women. But today they bring me heartache and envy. They are beginning their journey, and theirs won’t end like mine. Dear God, please don’t let Anyone’s end like mine.

I see people who are still in love and it makes me cry. I want what they have. I want what I thought I had. I married my best friend and the man I wanted to grow old with. I loved him because of his strengths and weaknesses. To say that I ignored the things I didn’t like would not be an accurate assessment. I saw him for all that he was and all that he wasn’t.  But I chose him. I chose him every day. I chose him even when he broke my heart. I chose him even when I knew I wasn’t a priority. I chose him when he didn’t follow through. I chose him when he only showed up physically, but not mentally or emotionally. I chose him as he changed. I always chose him. To love him. To accept him. To support him, even when it meant I wasn’t supported. It seems that was one sided.

Marriage is a series of choices, and when you are the only one choosing your love, it dissolves.

I never wanted kids. I never wanted marriage. Actually, scratch that last one. I loved the idea of  a love forever, but I didn’t think I would ever get it. I didn’t think it existed for me. It terrified me. So I vowed to never get married. Then I met my son’s father. He was intoxicating and I fell in love. After a few years together, I knew he was it. The one. He was the man I wanted by my side forever. I thought he wanted that too. He asked me to marry him and I had no doubt that I wanted to. We agreed all those years ago- no kids. After four years of marriage (and eight years together) he changed his mind. He wanted a baby. Specifically, he wanted a baby with me. I was terrified once again. Would he regret marrying me because I didn’t want a child? He assured me that he wouldn’t-he wanted a partner regardless of a child. His desire for a child with me was so sweet-and my love for him so strong- I felt I owed it to him to at least really think about having a kid. I couldn’t guarantee any change in my feelings, but I should evaluate them again as an older, married woman.

I interviewed mothers. I discussed my fears. I admitted my selfishness in liking my freedom. But over the course of two years, I changed my mind. I wanted a family with this man. I truly wanted a baby. So being the planner I am, I looked at the best time to start trying and I chatted with all of my doctors to make sure my body was ready. We got pregnant two months earlier then my plan. My first lesson in my complete lack of control.

He was so happy. I was so happy. And I still am. I will NEVER regret my son. I love him with everything I have, and more. He has changed me forever. But I cannot speak for his father. Fourteen months into Moose’s life, he decided that being with me wasn’t what he wanted anymore. I had no idea it was coming. I knew we were stressed. We had a tiny human and we were just getting past the really hard stuff. He no longer wanted to be my partner in this. No longer a daily fixture in Moose’s home.

All that to say, I am beyond envious of these women because they have so much joy and excitement ahead. They have a partner to share it with. They have a spouse that loves them and wants to survive the hard stuff together.  Someone to share the amazing triumphs with. Someone to giggle at the adorable things these tiny humans do. And in addition to that, some of these women were my friend through him. It is another facet of my old life that is no longer mine. A part of my joy that was taken from me without my consent.  We will not have play dates. I will not be invited to the baby showers. I will not bring them food and hold their new baby when they bring it home from the hospital.  Does my heartache take away from my joy for them? No. But do I feel like a selfish ass? 100%. I wish my sadness didn’t cloud how I feel about their joy. I wish it didn’t make me think-for a split second- what did I do wrong? I wish it didn’t make me feel like a fool. Do these mixed emotions make me an awful person? I really hope not. I pray daily that these feelings go away.  That my sadness at the loss of what I thought I had, will vanish. That my feelings of failure and embarrassment, at either my complete lack of character assessment or my ability to believe lies, will banish from my mind. But until then, I will wrestle with my jealousy. I will remain a complicated human that can feel joy and mourning simultaneously. And one day, hopefully I can see a baby announcement and just feel joy and excitement to usher them into this incredible club of parenthood. For it is a club I wasn’t sure I would ever be a part of, but I am glad I never have to leave.