"We always said that we were going to see you, not him."
"I never liked him, but I decided I never saw the him that you saw."
I hear a lot of this in the months after my divorce. People who previously seemed to enjoy the ex-husband's company are eager to tell me that they never understood why we were together, that he was clearly out of his league with me, that they never liked him that much anyway. They assure me things will be better the next time around. I have a canned response:
"I loved him. It was complicated."
Canned response or no, these comments send me waaaaaaay down the rabbit hole. There must have been signs I missed, right? And he was obviously horrible, so what was so wrong in me that I didn't see his horribleness? Did everyone tell me and I missed it?
I fixate on these things for months and spend hours sobbing over what a broken, disgusting person I am to have not seen the things that appeared so obvious to my friends.
* * *
I met someone.
Just writing that sentence gives me stomach flutters and makes me flush.
I met someone.
It's early days, much, much too early to even be writing that sentence, but we live in hope, right?
I met someone.
I smile when he texts me and get nervous when he doesn't. I spend hours worrying about what to wear, how to do my makeup before our dates. I talk on the phone with him when we cancel a date and don't want to hang up. I imagine sex, long weekends in the woods together, sleepy Sunday mornings with cats and coffee.
I met someone.
My stomach flutters. I flush.
* * *
"Jesus Christ, someone actually said that?"
I'm spending a long evening with friends, ostensibly gaming but really pouring my guts out across their dining room table.
"More than one someone. Everyone seems eager to tell me how much they didn't like my ex-husband."
"Yes, but that's not true."
"What do you mean?"
"They're processing their own shit, Kel. They want to make you feel better, and don't know how. This is their attempt."
This is one of the wisest things someone will say to me in my grief.
* * *
We're somewhere near hour four of our date when a few words start popping out at me.
Vaping. Night Owl. Picky Eater.
When I picked out my outfit for today I was going for something effortless and chic. More importantly, something that didn't require me to carry a bag with me. I look fantastic, but I also suddenly find myself on the edge of a panic attack and my meds are miles away.
He elaborates on each of these and if my lizard brain would stop screaming for long enough for me to listen I'd hear the important things. He takes care of his health and eats well. He's considerate about other people, especially ones he's seeing romantically. He's easy-going and a good listener.
On the surface, nothing he's said is even a theoretical dealbreaker for me. But ohboy, the ex-husband and I had some knock down fights over those exact things, so now instead of listening, I'm breaking out into an anxious sweat because of those five words.
Vaping. Night Owl. Picky Eater.
I've been saying for months now that grief is a funny, unpredictable thing. It turns out that trauma is, too.
To people on the outside, calling the ending of my marriage traumatic probably sounds foolish. Natural disasters are traumatic. Violence is traumatic. Your divorce may have hurt a lot, but it certainly wasn't traumatic.
It was.
It's one of those situations where there's a lot I could say about it and not much to be said about it. But the trauma there was real, and I thought I had handled it.
Until I'm panicking on the sidewalk somewhere around hour four of a good date.
* * *
I may have been out of my husband's league.
Who knows? The person I am not can't even begin to evaluate who I was then. How things ended throw a pall over how things started, and I don't really see much of a point in examining it anyway. Thankfully, people say things like that less now, and I say what I've always said: "I loved him. It was complicated."
Oddly, my feelings about this new person are every bit as complex. How can I have stomach flutters and still keep enough distance to watch for those red flags? How can I be sure that I won't make the mistakes I made with my ex-husband? How can I trust that I'm not dating someone who can keep up with me? Can I date someone again and still protect myself? Is that even still love? Am I stupid for wanting love and romance again?
I don't have a good answer for any of it. My life is seriously lacking in those Public Radio moments of insight these days.
It isn't that I'm totally without an answer though.
I met someone. I like him. It's complicated.
