Megan in ATX

Shhh….don’t tell the feminists and other independent ladies out there, but, I actually really enjoy being married. I like being coupled off.

I don’t like when I loose myself in someone else or obtain my self worth through my coupled off status. But I do like the partnership. I like knowing that someone is on my side. That someone is standing next to me in battle, even if it’s not their battle to fight.

That’s been one of the hardest pills to swallow being single.

I’m out there on the battle field swinging my sword. And I’m all alone.

Yes, I have friends and family cheering me on and throwing rocks at my enemies when they can. I am grateful for them and those rocks, but at the end of the day, it’s just me and my sword facing down the horde that life is charing me with. And when I’m done, I come back to an empty tent and an empty bed. There is no warm body to comfort me.

Most days, it’s okay to be out there swinging that battle ax alone. It’s even empowering.

Some days, it’s just damn hard.

This morning it occurred to me that I am, in fact, heartbroken.

Duh, right? 5 years ago I married a man I was crazy about. We had a really good run. We had a lot of chemistry and a lot of fun together. Yeah, the last few years were rough, but we still had that spark and we still had a lot of fun together. In January he told me he no longer loved me and I moved out.

Of course I’m heartbroken.

Moving out and moving on has been amazing. So many wonderful things have happened to me.

And no, I haven’t been burying my head in the sand, I’ve had a crying jag or two (or two dozen). I’ve drank wine with friends and bitched about my ex. I’ve been angry and sad. I’ve journaled like crazy and even seen my therapist once or twice.

I’ve also picked myself up and gone for a run, seen a funny movie and thrown myself into work and getting to know myself. Most days I feel really proud of what I’ve done and how I’ve handled things. I think I’m okay. I am okay. Even when I’m sobbing like mad, I’m okay because I know that the crying will stop and I’ll hug my dog, go for a run, drink some wine and wake up feeling good the next day.

But I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and reach for him. Even when I’m next to someone else, I’ll reach out and be startled when the plains of their body is different from his. I’m still startled, when I sleepily put my hands on that magical place between a man’s hip bone and the beginning of his pubic area and the lines are sharper or softer or narrower or wider.

My body and mind still haven’t fully transitioned from “we” to “me”.

This morning I got a phone call from my ex, he’d locked himself out and asked me to come let him in. It’s on my way to work so it really wasn’t a big deal to swing by. He moved our bedroom upstairs to the loft, but I noticed that my favorite photo of us, the one taken in front of our first house the day we put a bid on it, was still hanging on the wall. Then he asked me about which of the kitchen appliances I took because he just couldn’t remember. We talked for awhile and it was comfortable and pleasant even. But that old familiar burn was there, that instinct to reach out and wrap myself up in him, to fall back into old patterns and take care of each other.

Knowing that I can’t, hurts. It burns. It’s strange too, because I don’t want to get back together with him. After those first few days I haven’t wanted to be with him. I miss being part of an established couple, sure, but I don’t miss him. I’m happier apart, I’m healthier and achieving more. I’m better without him, but it still burns.

I am, in fact, heartbroken.

So far nothing about 2013 has gone as planed.

I moved out, ended a serious relationship (marriage), lost and then rekindled another one. I haven’t even stopped long enough to fully wrap my mind around all that has changed.

My entire world has been turned completely upside down and inside out.

Yet, I am entirely okay.

There are unexpected moments of sadness and self-pity, usually in the darkness of the early morning, barely awake and blindly reaching out for the, now empty, other side of the bed.

That emptiness startles me.

But my own love fills me back up.

My friends and new lovers will keep me moving and content. My hobbies and work fill my life with joy and my time with purpose. That empty place beside me on the pillow is ultimately meaningless. It’s just more space for me to stretch out.

Though I do miss the regular touch of a masculine hand. I miss the comforting weight of another person beside me. I miss the gentle friction of skin sliding over skin, idly and mindlessly keeping me grounded and connected. That I miss. That emptiness with take the longest to get used to or fill back up.

There’s plenty of passion still in my life, but those quiet gentle moments are what I’m missing right now, it’s the hole that burns biggest, just being in the presence of a person who loves me.

The feelings of loss are unexpected. I braced for bigger moments, large things to feel like they were gone or missing. I didn’t think it would be those small moments I would notice.

Silly me.