This is 48.
Raw
Unfiltered.
Authentic.
Broken.
My entire life, from my love to my children and pets and my work… every single thing that made me everything I am… fell apart this year.
One early spring morning, I lost my love and my daughter… at the same time. I will share my story about those things over the coming weeks. I am still processing, feeling, and doing the fucking hard work.
For those who know my daughter’s mental health, yes.. she is alive… but not by her choosing. I have seen her once since February. I get to see her this weekend again, one day before she turns 17. She sounds healthier when I speak to her over the phone. She flips back and forth from hating me to comprehending the hard work ahead of her. It is the hardest thing I have ever had to face.
For those who know my love… she left me. My kids. Our home. Our lives. Everything. She left everything behind and started a new life. Her clothes still hung in my closet as she celebrated her birthday out of town, ‘exploring their options’ (as she put it) with another woman my children and I called a friend. Her story is hers to tell. I have not stopped loving her. I cannot. I don’t know when I will. But I have begun the process to protect myself from the pain as I do the hard work to get through it.
There are no sides to take. She just left. There was no inciting incident that I know of. She just left. So, to mutual friends, after almost four months, I still say love her exactly where she is. Love me where I am. I have no choice but to accept her decision to leave. I am most definitely struggling with separating the emotions from the happening. But I still love her because that’s not something I could simply turn off. So I ask for nothing from anyone except kindness and respect for us both as we each write our new stories.
I will begin to tell mine in the coming weeks. I still do not feel safe on social media, but it is also where I work, so I walk that fine line of balance.
I am so broken. Shattered in places I didn’t see coming. My shattered pieces have shattered and re-shattered. I am doing the hard work. I am learning to love myself because I could not begin to love anyone else in this space I am in.
So, this is 48. This is midlife. This is heartbreak. This is raw emotion and true vulnerability, which I still believe is the purest form of love, and if I cannot share my vulnerabilities with my partner, I will begin to face them myself because I own them. And they do not make me weak.
The fact that I cannot stop loving and the fact I can show myself just how vulnerable I am and not fear living inside that space proves to me I am stronger than I think, stronger than my daily tears let me believe… and I’ll discover that hidden strength the more I empower myself to live inside the vulnerable.
My daughter took these photos of me on my birthday a few days ago. We spent the early morning hours in the pool together, and I decided not to shower because we’d planned on spending much of the day in the water. So… no makeup, no shower, just out of the pool… 25 pounds lighter, raw, unfiltered, authentic, transparent, and broken… and doing the hard work.
We can do the hard work even while we’re shattered.
I told my kids back in April that we will all check-in with one another next April to see how far we’ve risen after falling. They have been on a roller coaster of emotions as well. My son cried before bed last night. Sometimes it’s anger. Sometimes it’s questions I cannot answer. Either way, it’s learning and breaking the cycle of trust broken… the hard work he’ll have to do from here. They are hurt. Angry. In shock and disbelief. And they are watching their mom do the hard fucking work and starting to do it themselves too. I can always tell when he’s overwhelmed with feelings when I find his journal on my pillow before bed. I can always tell when he knows how weak I am because he checks in with me all day with hugs and stops communicating his feelings. It’s a journey for us all.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Authentic.
Broken.
I’d challenge anyone reading this to take this template… add your own language (you don’t have to use your age), your own adjectives, and your photos. And start Living Inside The Vulnerable. Feel free to share them with me. Feel free to take my logos off. This isn’t about me if you do it… this is about loving you… exactly where you are.