I don’t remember much from the day my husband left me.
He delivered the news, then left the house. I texted my neighbor. Took my ring off.
But one thing I vividly remember is looking up job opportunities around the country.
Within hours of my life ending, the next step was so clear: I would get a promotion within the organization I had worked for the last four years. It would be more money, more prestige. It would be above the Mason-Dixon Line (it was the 2016 election season after all).
It was so clear.
This is an extraordinary concept to me today, as I have no clear next step.
Three weeks ago, not 18 months after my husband walked out, my boss walked in and delivered the following news:
“Effective immediately, your employment has been terminated.”
For the second time in less than a year and a half, a man abruptly, coldly entered my life and ended it without warning.
I was 27. Married. A professional.
I am 29. Divorced. Unemployed.
My habit is to not announce anything until I’ve arrived at a perfectly sanitized moment worthy of sharing.
No one knew we were getting married, until we were married.
No one knew we bought a house, until we moved in.
No one knew I was getting a divorce, until I had my next job and new place to live.
This way, I was able to control the narrative: this happened to me at the start and I have figured it out — now you are invited into the story. You can’t influence the outcome or walk by my side, I’m agreeing on your behalf that we’ll meet at the finish line.
I wanted to save you from the middle. The middle is messy, vulnerable. The middle is filled with questions I can’t answer. The middle has no polish, no control — it’s raw and scary and authentic.
So here’s your invitation: I’m officially in the middle. It’s officially a mess. I have little direction, a shrinking bank account and no answers.
I’m told the middle is where the magic happens. I’m not yet sure if this magic appears, or if I make it myself. I suppose the only way out is through — and you’re free to join me, if you like.