The last couple of years, I’ve basically been living through the Apocalypse. A divorce that wasn’t merely painful but actively abusive. Being dragged through court twice and having to fight a battle over maintenance and custody, being stalked and spied on by my ex and his new partner, watching my children suffer emotional abuse and his attempts at alienation. Trying to get to know my estranged biological father while he died of cancer. My eldest child developing epilepsy, plus an ADHD diagnosis to go with her existing Aspergers. My younger daughter developing severe anxiety, depression and worsening OCD as a result of our experiences. My career destroyed by my ex, my finances wiped out on legal fees. Having to leave what we thought would be our forever home, with a stressful enforced downsize to a two-up two-down, less than half the size of what we had – a house move made far worse by developing severe flu and barely being able to stand up, never mind pack up.
The result? Exhaustion. Depression. Anxiety. Panic attacks. Insomnia. Confidence destroyed. Trying to look for the silver lining, I convinced myself that the house move represented my new start, my new life. It didn’t matter that every room was piled high with cardboard boxes, that we were all sleeping on mattresses on the floor, that the washing machine was 5mm too tall to fit beneath the worktop and the kitchen was barely usable. I could take my time putting it right and creating a home for us, slowly beginning to ease myself into my new life, resting, healing, rebuilding. Instead, only two months down the line, the second court case was thrown at me, along with my youngest’s suicidal depression. I had thought the battle was over, that I could put my weapons down, but instead was forced back into the fray at a time when my priorities needed to be on hearth, home and kids.
End result? More exhaustion. More depression. More anxiety. PTSD. Anger and cynicism about the Family Court system, the abuses and failings that we’ve endured. Constant fear that it will never be over, that my ex will find yet another thing to bully me with, drag me into court again. Heartbreak over what this has done to the children. The desperate need for healing, for rest and renewal.
These are the bare bones of my story. Sadly I know I’m not alone, too many of my friends have endured abusive and controlling relationships, have been forced into starting over at a time when they thought they would be happily settled. So much healing is needed, while the demands of daily life force us to carry on as normal, pushing our own needs to the bottom of the To Do list. While I want to retreat to the House of Grief, scream, rage and weep before falling into a deep hibernation, re-emerging months later calm and healed, the reality is that I have to get up in time for the school run.
In the midst of all this, a home that was never properly moved into. Boxes yet to be unpacked, rooms thrown together in a haste born out of emergency. A house that functions rather than a home that nourishes. A barren wasteland of a garden. A new life that never got a chance.
This, then, is my journey towards healing. My journal of this new, undiscovered life, waiting to be lived.