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Thursday.

For some reason I have been waking up super early the past week. I wake up around 3 or 4am and lay there for a while, assessing the damage and how I feel about it. I haven’t cried in a few days. Sure there have been moments of silence or stillness where I will feel my face crumble and my back hunch and know that if I gave into it I could let out a pretty impressive wail, but I haven’t. I’m not sure if this is because my eyelids and my subconscious have joined forces to prevent me from looking like a bare knuckle boxer, or that I simply don’t have the energy to. Either way, I almost feel guilty.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m devastated. But I also have a long, strong history of losing people and maybe over the years I’ve just become better equiped to handle it. This doesn’t bode well for my Future-ex-husband who has never really lost anyone and 100% went to work the day after our break up. I believe the mourning period is real and necessary. And healthy.

Anyway. I woke up on the couch this morning for the last time. I grabbed Daryl and we walked to Bunnings. I am now the proud owner of a set of Allen keys AND a mini toolkit. Which means I am also the proud owner of a rickety yet structurally safe bed. I could not be more excited to sleep in it tonight.

I decided today to start the blog, so this entry will catch me up. I have been giving a lot of thought to what I want to learn from this break up. My future-ex-husband said he didn’t love me enough to love me the way I needed. I think that’s a bit of a cop out, but who am I to judge when I’ve never really been so crash hot at loving myself. I’ve gone through more identity changes than Madonna and had finally navigated myself to a place that I thought felt authentic. Yet, now all of a sudden it doesn’t fit. The tough girl who was always acting crazy was clearly desperately seeing some attention from her husband. If I’ve realised anything in the past week it’s that I need to arrive at a place where I respect myself. I need to get it, and keep it, together.

So I sat down and wrote a list of all the things that I want to do over the next year. And then because I’m a big nerd I wrote them all down on my whiteboard and put it next to my door.

So yeah. I have decided, unequivocally, to stay single for a year and a day. And while that is the time period that needs to pass before we can legally get a divorce (that word is so weird to me), it is also something that I have always wanted to do. Be single for a year. It was on my Life Goals list when I was 21 and I just never got around to it. I bounced in and out of relationships, meeting great men and craving their validation. I don’t regret any of my past relationships but now I am committing to putting some serious time and energy into the one that matters most.

My goal is to finish the 366 days a stronger, happier, more capable and confident woman. And kinder. To myself, to friends, to strangers. Kindness isn’t something that comes naturally to me. Resilient, yes. Protective, yes. Defensive, definitely. But pure, unconditional kindness and the openness to trust people that comes along with it, not so much.

Now you may ask, ‘But Baddie, what if you meet the person of your dreams in the next 366 days and you turn them away because of this silly quest?!’ Well historically that seems unlikely, but also, after observing my previous flatmate and the joy she has in her relationship, I have decided that I want to be friends before lovers. I want to know that anyone I choose to be in a relationship with is someone I can hang out and have a blast with, minus sex or romantic affection. Because otherwise, what’s the point?

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Baddie first.

Let the good times roll.

Baddie. x

P.S Girl Friday is alive and well, and sleeping!

Wednesday.

I am going to buy a plant.

Correction. I am driving over an hour return to buy a $15 plant because I need something that I can love that is mine and won’t leave me. (I know, I have the fur babies, but I just really wanted a plant ok.) I called her Girl Friday and she has purple black leaves that fold up at night.

I took Daryl the dog with me for a bit of a road trip, in light of my new commitment to be the best fur mom ever. On the way home we stopped at a dog park and Daryl decided to take a swim in the creek. Watching his absolute joy, I felt my heart explode and heard myself laughing for the first time in a week. It’s just us four now and the love and affection these furry, smelly bastards show me has made the world of difference in the last week. Any way, here’s a photo of Daryl getting his stank on.

If my future-ex-husband knew I still haven’t given him a bath and he’s sleeping on the bed right now, his fucking head would explode.

On returning home my mattress got delivered. I realised this is the first time I have actually owned a mattress myself. I always lived in furnished units, borrowed from friends and for the last 5 years, slept on my ex’s. It feels like the best fresh start ever. And guaranteed no cum stains!

While I’m pretty isolated down here, I am aware that I am blessed to have an incredible collective of women in my life that I know are on my side. So in an attempt to prevent myself from blowing up facebook and my future-ex-husband’s phone with a bunch of depressive emo crap, I created a group chat with a bunch of women that I knew I could express myself to and they wouldn’t judge me or tell me to “give it time”. So now I heap my depressive emo crap on them instead. I’m telling you, if you go through a break up and don’t have a powerhouse of strong women behind you, I don’t know if your gunna make it. I have one friend that calls me every single day to make sure I’m not swinging from a rafter. Another sends through attorney referrals and plant recommendations, and another booked me a ticket home and arranged a get together with all my friends, even though I promised her I wouldn’t smile the whole weekend.

Women!

I have been giving a lot of thought to what the future looks like for me now I’ve been totally uprooted. I have had to readjust not only my plans but my whole image of what my future looks like. My financial stability is now 100% my responsibility, and while I’ve always been good at managing money, two paycheques are definitely better than one. I’ve also had to come to terms with the fact that any adventures I want to take now will be as a single person. My future-ex-husband and I never really travelled, seldom went out to dinner and never went out to bars or clubs. It wasn’t his thing and it wasn’t a financial priority. Even when I made a date night account, it went unused.

I read an interview recently with Emma Watson where she said she referred to herself as ‘self-partnered’ instead of single. I really like that. Like the Lizzo song ‘Soulmate’, it bows to the notion of taking care of yourself the way you would a partner, or the way you would want a partner to take care of you. It resonates with me because as much as I’m a huge advocate for self care, it is very easy to push aside. Self-partnered is almost calling out the fact that we prioritise others over ourselves and removing the excuse. Romance and passion was definitely something that was missing in our marriage, but that doesn’t mean I can’t romance the shit out of myself now, not to mention prioritise the rest of my needs.

I re-did my budget. Having a financial plan has always been the foundation of my mental health. I also sent my future-ex-husband a breakdown of his share of the expenses. The fact that we own a house together is going to make things more difficult but I guess that’s the price you pay for falling in love.

I found a bed. It’s on the other side of the city so I go and pick it up. Trying to assemble it I realise my future-ex-husband has taken the tool kit and I need an Allen key to put this thing together. Another night on the couch. I’ve decided to give up pot for a while.

My roommate bought me perfume. ❤

Baddie. x

Tuesday. Mother fucking Tuesday.

Every morning when I wake up, there are a few precious moments before I recall the absolute train wreck that was the last week and is now my life. I forgot that every plan we made together has evaporated into mist, and that I’m now so fucking alone. This is usually the best part of my day.

Sadly, today I must leave the comfort of my new bed/home/fortress of solitude aka the couch. The boys (my fur children) are running low on food so I must face the public, which means I must shower and brush my teeth.

For the first time. In six fucking days.

Don’t judge me.

In a bid to delay the inevitable, I decide to rearrange my bookcase according to colour, which chews up a good hour of my day. It becomes clear to me that I do not own enough black books. This must be rectified.

I head to the pet store and make my selection. This pet store also happens to be smack bang in the middle of a complex of bedroom stores, so I wander aimlessly, looking at $3000 packages and wondering if maybe I could have slept in our old bed after all. After being approached by one overly enthusiastic sales man who said I looked edgy (cue cat hair covered beanie to hide grease trap, dirty jeans, slippers and my leather jacket), and completely ignored by about 6 others I’m about to give up when I find my saint.

“Can I help you with something?’

“Probably. I don’t know. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I’m getting a divorce. I have              no bed and not much money”

Lordy, I bet she’s glad she picked me. 20 mins later I walk out with a receipt for a discounted floor stock mattress and a promise of delivery the next day. Turns out Jodie is recently separated too, all men are scum, we’re better off without them, yada yada. Too right you are sister.

After what I deem to be one for the win column, I decide to ride this new found wave of achievement all the way to the supermarket, where I proceed to buy every fathomable comfort food you can imagine.

Go home. Get drunk and stoned. Eat half the food I bought. Decide I cannot live without a pot plant.

No sobbing fit that I can recall. Winning!

Baddie. x

 

I could wax-poetic about it all. I could go into detail about who did what, who’s right, who’s wrong. Or I could just move the fuck on.

Just to get you up to speed, here’s a timeline of the first 5 days after my marriage ended.

Thursday –  D Day. Cry uncontrollably

Friday – Go to the doctor for some kind of emotion numbing chemical which will allow me not to feel anything. Apparently the 50’s are over. Prescribes sleeping pills that can not be taken with alcohol…like a jerk. Continue crying.

Saturday – Cry uncontrollably in the morning. In the afternoon, neighbours make offer of wine and hospitality. Drink too much. Take a pill for the first time in 10 years to stop myself from feeling. Pill does nothing. Skate around neighbours living room.

Sunday – Call Future-ex-husband for absolutely no reason besides missing him. Discuss logistics of separation. Cry uncontrollably. Review entire five years of Facebook relationship history. Future-ex-husband arrives to pick up his stuff. Cue two hours of mutual crying. Watch as he get in his car and drives away. He doesn’t look back once.

Monday – Movers come to collect the bed we slept in together and take it back to the store. I was clearly never going to sleep in it again. I have a scheduled counselling session over the phone. She tries to convince me to see things from his perspective, and that he probably feels worse than I do. Also wonders if I made an impulse decision and tries to reassure me that we can work things out. Schedule another session for the following Monday. Future-Ex-Husband texts to see how I am and if I’d like to chat “about how I’m feeling if that would help at all”. Send passive aggressive reply about how my world is shattered and I will never be happy again. It doesn’t help. Proceed to get drunk and stoned. It helps.

Ok so clearly I’m making GREAT lifestyle choices at the moment. Stay tuned though, I promise it gets better.

Baddie x

I have recently started learning to dance.

When I say recently, I took my first salsa class two weeks ago. In an endeavour to fill my time while the man is away, I have been taking classes and chasing goals left, right and centre. I have always wanted to master a few things in life, but never found myself in one place, with enough time or accessible training for long enough to get it done.

I am currently out of excuses.

So before my pre-life change savings ran out, I signed up for a 6 week cuban salsa class and a 9 week beginners acting class. My first salsa lesson was a disaster. Never before have I felt so off base in my estimation of my skills and natural ability. I have done a little salsa before in mixed style classes and fancied myself a quick learner. Wrong. I felt clumsy, awkward and completely uncomfortable in my skin. I was trying so hard to get it right that I got it so, so wrong. Even the instructor noticed, failing to highlight to everyone my flawless moves and effortless sexy latin hip shaking thing. I received barely a snort in my direction before it was “high five, change partners”. I was so conscious of trying not to mess up for my partner that I must have resembled a plank of wood. The notion of little old me popping a hip or throwing in some sass before I actually knew what I was meant to be doing seemed ridiculous. I walked away from the class feeling really down…so I went to see Magic Mike 2. 🙂

The second class, I was exhausted. I had just spent 5 1/2 hours front line at a protest and although physically I was shattered, my mental exhaustion resulted in a complete lack of concern for how silly I looked. I let go. I decided to have fun and do my best and that was all I could do. Apparently that’s the trick. It was such a better class and I think it was at that moment I became a little obsessed. The instructor invited the whole class to a salsa party that night, and when a gorgeous Brazilian with sweet moves invites you to party, you go.

Maybe don’t go half an hour early and by yourself though. I walked into the club after dinner with a friend, alone, and was suddenly hit with the realisation that I was actually inviting people to ask me to dance. In a club. Doing a dance I’d had two lessons in. Did I mention I was alone?

In the end I survived the evening, even if I did run away like a chicken a few hours later instead of departing like a civilised human and, you know, actually saying good bye to people. I went to another party two days later, with a sensational woman I met that evening in acting class. I mean, she’d NEVER partner danced and still walked into the lion pit. Bad. Ass.

If there is one thing I have learnt from the whole horrifying, soul crushing, heart lifting experience, it’s that sometimes, you have to let go and let someone else lead. I am not a good follower. I am also a feminist, so the whole concept is wrong to me. But it was definitely more fun when I quit fighting it. Giving up control is not always giving up power, and two people working together is infinitely better than two people trying to be the boss.

The wonderful men I danced with were so kind and patient and not at all the creepy salsa stereo type I was looking out for. I had a lot, A LOT, of embarrassing moments, and I have learnt that there are a few dance styles I don’t like and a few I love. I know that this is only the beginning of a journey that I have been wanting to take for years and I hope that my sort of grumpy, sort of lovely teacher doesn’t quit encouraging me to push myself.

Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.

I’ve done a lot with my life. I have lived in many places and worked what I would say is an unusual amount of different jobs for someone at the ripe old age of nearly 29. I have always been quick to fall in love and quick to fall out of love, with most things; Men, countries, food, music, jobs, hobbies. Over my years I have left a path of destruction and discontentment in my wake.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed it. I have travelled the world, had wonderful experiences, faced fears, given my heart to wonderful men and then found the courage to take it back. I DID become a PADI MSDT (Master Scuba Diver Trainer) and lived in Thailand for 6 months, learning and teaching and falling in love with the ocean and the culture and discovering who I am. I was blessed to meet so many incredible humans during my time there who helped me discover myself and grow towards the person I hoped to become. I made mistakes. A lot of mistakes. Horrible, gut wrenching, humiliating mistakes.

I also achieved things I never could have imagined I was capable of. I guided divers inside shipwrecks. I pushed my limits. Along with the beautiful French man I spent most of my time there with, I developed a great passion for marine conservation and a thirst for knowledge about the extensive aquatic ecosystems that most of us remain oblivious to our whole lives. I got matching tattoos with a crazy Canadian girl and developed friendships that I hope will remain strong for the rest of my time on earth.

But all of this wasn’t enough. When I returned home to Australia, my demons were waiting for me. It’s a well known fact within my circle of friends that family has always been a sensitive subject to me. Without going into too much detail, let me just say that I reached a point where I realised who I was trying to become did not align with the influences I had in my life, and that I was no longer going to put myself in the path of destructive forces. I also needed to well and truly hit rock bottom, so I could discover the strength within myself to rebuild. And I did. So now I am.

I know now what I want. Not all of it, not the whole plan. I have travelled this path, or one like it, too many times to expect that my plan and the universe’s plan for me will perfectly align. But I know now that whatever happens, it has to be for me, by me and through me.

The Rock’n’Roll Mermaid 2.0

Stay tuned