The Yellow Door Life

I never expected you to be perfect. 

I knew we would have our differences. I thought that the things we didn’t have in common could help us challenge each other in a good way. 

They weren’t red flags. The addictions. The lack of commitment. The codependency. The justifications. They were opportunities. 

I was going to save you and eventually you would become the person I always dreamed you would be. 

I pushed you. I expected that you would want to start growing soon. You would start taking control. You would plan our life together. You didn’t even want to plan a vacation. It was too far in the future. Who knew if it would work out? 

Every day, I let you convince me that I was wrong. 

My way of thinking. The way I loaded the dishwasher. The way I trained the dogs. The way I did my crafts. The way I handled situations at work. The way I never stopped asking you to get rid of the beer bottles all over the counter and garage. The way I drove. 

The way I kept asking you to be present. To put your phone down. To have one less drink today. To hang out with my friends. To not talk badly about my mom. To understand that I was still grieving. To support me in losing weight. To quit saying you like me the way I am when I’m clearly drowning and need someone to push me to be better. To show up to a doctor’s appointment. To work when I needed a break. To stop spending money. To hold me when I was crying. To understand when I was devastated. To show up when I didn’t want to show up for myself. To pray with me. To go to counseling with me. 

You said you would never choose alcohol over me. Second biggest lie I have ever been told. 

I convinced myself I was never enough because you would never let me be enough. 

No matter what I did you critiqued me. Every little choice got scrutinized.

The more I prayed. The more you started to pull away. The more I saw, the less you listened. 

I’m the problem. I used to say it over and over again. I must be the problem. It’s not your drinking. It’s not your laziness. I’m the problem. And sometimes I was. I was angry. I was mean. I was reactive. I was like a wounded dog and I took all the pain you inflicted on me and fired it right back at you. 

If I’m the problem, you might be the reason.

What I finally figured out though is I may have been the problem, but it turned out, I was also the solution. 

I wasn’t going to spend another day of my life being yelled at for things you didn’t understand. For things you wanted to blame me for. For questioning your drinking. For being concerned about your health. For trying to make our lives better. I wasn’t going to spend another day sleeping in a house with someone who withheld saying I love you if he was mad. I wasn’t going to spend another day with someone who expected me to get a third job to support his vices. 

Who asked me “when are you going to get over your dad’s death?” 

Who said “I will never read anything you write because I don’t like reading.” I guess this blog is safe then. 

Who said, “If you’re not careful you’re going to end up alone.” 

The funny thing is. THIS isn’t about you. Remember I’m the solution. This is the solution. Telling myself I was, and am, enough. My work was enough. My household was enough. My love was enough. I tried enough. I cared enough. I did enough. I almost died proving I was enough. Turns out you were not enough for me. And I was never going to be enough for you. You proved that when you were already in a relationship before the divorce was final. 

You can’t be alone. 

You don’t know how to.

And I feel sorry for you. 

You made it sound like being alone would be a curse. 

The only curse I was ever under was your abuse disguised as love. 

If I’m the problem, you might be the reason.

When I told you I wanted a divorce, you walked away. Before you left, I said, “if you really want to make this work, pray about it.” 

You replied, “Praying to some guy isn’t going to bring my wife back.”

I said, “It’s the only thing that will.” 

You told me you believed in God. Biggest lie I have ever been told. 

I used to pray that you would quit drinking. I prayed you would change. I prayed I would have your children.

I thank God every day for refusing to answer those prayers. 

If I’m the problem, you might be the reason. 

You didn’t fight for me once. You wouldn’t make a single compromise. You didn’t even bat an eye when I told you I was leaving the state. 

And all I have to say is thank you. 

Thank you for not showing up. Thank you for not trying to convince me to stay. Thank you for being yourself. 

Because now, I’m not the problem. I’m the solution. I’m enough. I’m alive. I can breathe. I can grieve in peace. I can write. I can be myself. I can grow. I can choose green flags. I can leave the saving to Jesus. I can believe. I can be alone and be content in that aloneness. I can wait for the right person to be my person. I can trust God. 

I can