Page 8 of Indescribable

Cake in a mug packets? Pints of the fancy kind of ice cream that I plan to eat directly out of the container? Two bags of corn chips that are shaped like a twist and are barbecue and honey flavored? FunYuns? Real Cheetos, not the baked kind? Chocolate? Absolutely. Extra is needed. Comfort food but junk that just simply tastes good and I know how to eat in moderation. Usually, anyway.

All of it goes in the cart.

Asparagus. Lemons. Brussel sprouts. Broccoli. Avocado. Those little mozzarella balls that just taste better for some reason. Tomatoes. Pork tenderloin. Microwave rice packages. I can be healthy, too.

Wine. Three bottles. No. Four. Definitely four.

Again, all of it gets dumped in the cart and not fancy like some of those people on social media do when they walk through the grocery store and stack their purchases all nicely. No. Mine is haphazardly thrown in and will taste the exact same when I get home.

I do one more walk-through of the entire store, remembering to grab some more snacks, because… snacks. Also, oatmeal, eggs, cream cheese and bagels for breakfast before returning to the front of the store to check out.

By the time I’m hauling my new treasures to my car, I’m practically skipping with excitement. Never before have I been this excited to unload a car full of groceries. Normally that’s the most hated part but right now, I’m giddy. My first task as a single woman was a success. Sure, it wasonlygetting groceries but it feels bigger than that somehow.

I put away all the groceries and then take care of some administration tasks for work, which always seem to take longer than I expect it to. Plus, I owe my followers on social media a life update. Over the years, my social media presence has increased. At first, I did what most people do on their accounts. I fibbed. Or, rather, I painted a pretty picture. But what I discovered was my readers and followers wanted me to be real with them. They liked me better when I didn’t put up a façade and pretend. When Wyatt and I started having marriage troubles, I wasn’t exactly open, but I gave hints. Some of it was my business only so I kept those pieces of my life private, but I also learned that it was therapeutic to be more honest.

I shared our struggles with conceiving, but didn’t share the reason why. That particular piece is not mine to share. I also didn’t share that my husband repeatedly cheated on me. Partly because it’s embarrassing and I was ashamed, but also part of the reason was I didn’t want my followers who were also going through infertility problems to think their spouse would immediately step out just because mine did.

Infertility is such a personal experience to go through and every couple handles it differently. For some, they grow closer. For us, we grew apart. That was the basis of my explanation.

As I sit in front of my computer screen, I take a deep breath, rub my lips together, and let my fingers fly across the keys. I craft my “announcement” that my husband signed divorce papers yesterday, trying to be very careful in my wording so as not to shed too much light but also to be as transparent as I feel I can be.

Once the announcement is out in the world, I reply to the messages and comments I immediately receive then shut it all down. It’ll all be there tomorrow and because I have the most supportive and best followers on the planet, they’ll understand.

After my computer is set aside and I’ve finished all the work I needed to do, I wash my face and do some skin care, take the bedding off my bed so I can wash the sheets, dust… and then it hits me. With glaring clarity, probably thanks to making the official announcement, it hits me.

I’m single.

Wyatt and I have been separated for a year, which means I’ve already been single for a while but the realization of my new situation brings me to my knees on the floor of my bedroom.

Mybedroom.

It’s not as if I’m unhappy with the divorce being final, but the finality of it feels… a bit devastating. Exhausting, even. I wore this perfect marriage disguise for so long that it became a part of me. Shedding myself of the disguise has been both scary and relieving at the same time.

I’ve been part of a couple for so long, I don’t even know how to be single. I also don’t even know who I am by myself. Wyatt and I started dating when I was seventeen and were together for the next thirteen years. I may have conquered the grocery store on my own, but now I’m not feeling so sure of myself. Getting food to fill my cupboards and fridge is hardly something to be proud of.

Maybe it is.

But it doesn’t feel like it in the grand scheme of things.

There’s a whole lot more that I have to overcome on my own.

The point is, though, I have the opportunity to actually do it on my own.

I get to learn who I am, how I like to spend my free time, where I want to vacation – all of the things that I once had someone next to me while making those decisions are now going to be on my own. And that’s… exciting.

As quickly as I felt overwhelmed, a sense of empowerment comes over me.

“I can do this,” I whisper to myself then say it louder.

Soon I’m shouting it.

I’ve lost every last bit of my mind, obviously. I’m standing up in the middle of my bedroom with my arms spread wide shouting to the ceiling that I can be a single woman and conquer the shit out of it.

Scrambling to my office I grab some Post-it notes to write down positive reminders.

I am capable.

I am strong.

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