The Spreadsheet and Picasso

Spill the poems
without hesitation
of who can consume it.
Spill the poems.
do not eat your own words.
share it with the Universe,
so that others can heal too.
|| Karen Owusu

Special thanks to SassyFunke and Karen Oswsu for their words, which bring life.

Beginning to see, feel, think differently. About marriage, divorce, adult children, estrangement, family, love, God, you, me. 

We talked today on the phone. I hung up feeling hollow. 

Our phone conversation was nothing special. He’s always been good about keeping me posted about the girls, today no exception. In my desperate days for reconnection, I clung to those conversations, emails, texts, as if my only thread, my only bridge to them.

No more.

What at one time, for decades, I tried to make him like me, yearned for his approval. All gone. dissipated. Dissolved. Disengaged. Poof. Long time coming and now it’s here. 

It doesn’t matter what he thinks of me. It’s OK. Never did I think I would feel this way. 

Former spouses become former for specific reasons. Transparency is my comfort, evolution, my sanity. As I’ve grown, so I understand why I chose divorce. A friend once said, he is a spreadsheet, I, a Picasso painting. Truth in this statement, yet not good enough reason to leave a marriage, though I disagree with the notion opposites attract. Unless the spreadsheet and Picasso learn to accept the others’ differences, a singular relationship does not build a marriage. My reasons for leaving have far more to do with me than the person he was/is. Funny when we accept oneself, how more natural it is to accept others.

Acceptance does not equate to resolve. I accept the consequences of my actions years ago, though will never be completely resolved regarding estrangement. While I didn’t exactly strategize the outcome of my divorce, my acceptance of him is clean and solid. I’ve let go the way he carries himself, his use of coarse language, which I now find offensive, how he copes with our girls and so on. It’s his life to live. The father of my kids, I will always respect him in terms of parenthood.

Coping with divorce, coping with estrangement, I continue less fearful of people who don’t like me, judge who I am or disagree with my decisions. All will face adversity in life at some point. I say bring it. Believe you me, when your adult kids cut you out of their life, you either remain in your original fetal position or learn to walk again, albeit a bit differently; slowly and deliberately, head held higher. More later….

The learning process is magical. Let it happen. Whether spreadsheet or Picasso, every bit counts. 

We’ll find each other soon. ❤




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