Sky’s above

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Up here in this moment all is calm. Pastel blue sky’s as far as the eye can see. The only mark on this vast mass of Mother Nature at her best are the mallow clouds backlight by the early spring sun. 

I can breath. Up here away from it all I can relax take a moment to just sit. Not to think. Not worry. Not fret. None of it matters, not up here. 

But soon I will be on the ground again. And the troubles will return. My inner turmoil will rise up once more like soldiers on the front line ready for the next phase of battle to commence. Always alert, always on guard. 

For some time I have said that I know he won’t let me get away with beating him in the divorce; that this war was far from over.  I may just be about to deal him his next hand.

My boo and I are en route to our beloved Germany. And although I’m hugely, overwhelmingly excited to see my friends, to date my beautiful city of Nuremberg, to be alone in this familiar space. I am petrified to my core. 

My last contact with him (via the lawyers) resulted in another round of threats against me. Threats from him to take Legal action against me in some vain attempt to scare me, to make me the bad guy, to justify his own behaviour.  No basis, no reason, no provocation or cause just because he can and he has before.  And it worked then. Why wouldn’t he try again?  Now he has no control nor has he had any reaction from me and he just can’t stand it. He will do all he can to cause me pain to make his own feel less isolated, he knows no different. 

I try where I can, up here to empty my mind if these thoughts.  It’s impossible. As we fly closer and closer to our destination my pulse starts to gain pace. The anticipation of passport control, the how do I protect my son from seeing this happen, the embarrassment of being hauled away by the German airport police for some crime I never committed- I’ll spend months and thousands of euros to fight nothing more than an outlandish allegation, well it literally brings my heart out of my chest – bile boiling up in my throat. 

So why am I going? Feeling like this why on earth would I do this to myself?  

My boo needs this. Deserves this. So do I. We were forced out of a life we loved, a life we created. Gone forever through no fault of our own, and I need to claim it back for him.  

Secondly I refuse to let this fear hold me back. If that’s what happens it happens. I have no control. But neither will he. He will take joy, pleasure no doubt that his latest plan worked but he will see that no matter what he does I will stand back up again. It may take a while but I will.

I have to show him that I won’t continue to live in the shadows of his darkness. I won’t allow him to cast his depression over me, his grief and his pain is his to keep and I refuse to allow him to inflict it upon me.

Yet here I am writing this. With no plan to actually post until we are safely back in Great Bretannia- just in case! 

Well maybe I’m not that brave… Or possibly I’m just being sensible… Yes that’s it. I’ll go and enjoy myself safe in knowledge that he has no clue.. Simply I’m not going to kick the hornets nest. 

Written in the sky’s above on March 18th on the way to Munich. Posted upon return on Sunday 20th

 

Momentary lapse

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Yesterday I had one of those forgetting what happened between us  blips. You know, the ones when something happens and you immediately think of him. You reach for the phone to call and laugh about whatever it was that prompted the need to call in the first place. In this case it was trees, not just any trees.. My trees. It was a private joke we had about trees I planted in school. Whenever we passed them in the car he would say,”hey guess what?”, “what?”, “Wanna know who planted those trees?”and I would say “Me!!”

And we would giggle. Every time without fail. Silly I know but it became one of those weird tradition skit type things that we just did. 

But then it dawned on me. I’ll never call him again. I’ll never laugh about those trees or any of our little “things” again. 

It made me sad. Only for a second. But sad nonetheless. 

That’s all

X

The Gavel Fell

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I realise that I have not yet posted an update following my post day of reckoning so here it is.

The night before court

Wed Feb 10th 2016. Baby asleep, O doing his homework and me soaking in the bath. My head spinning with sickness. I flit (as I so often do) between tears of fear and of anger, but today more anger. The bath, my only solitude, washing away the signs of my sorrow. The vacuous sound of the taps flooding my surroundings with steaming hot water drowning out the deafening noise of my sobs.

The words still jumping from the page, replaying over and over in my mind as they have done since I first heard them through my lawyers’ voice on Monday.

“If your client refuses to settle out of court and agree to my clients demands he will move ahead with his legal right to raise a civil case against her for the illegal obtaining of his personal data”

Yes, I had access to his data. Access that he gave me when he begged to come home after D-day. It was one of my many conditions in allowing him home, and one he agreed to freely. And I have emails to prove it. But given my past brush with the German law (thanks to his mucky hands), it’s guilty until proven innocent and I simply don’t have anything else left in me to draw on if needed to fight.

I’m scared. Really scared. My O wants so desperately to return to his adopted home. To see his friends. The friends who carried him through things that no child should ever see or hear. Friends that he won’t ever see again if he makes good on his threat.  Right or wrong how can I do that to my boo? My principles and stubbornness don’t count any more, as much as I hate it, I have to agree… you all know as a parent its engrained on us to protect our children. An innate desire to see them happy. My boo is not happy. And god only knows how that kills me each and every day. If I don’t agree we won’t ever be able to return to our beloved Germany without the dread and embarrassment of being arrested as a result of his lies. His desperation. His cowardliness.

Anger sets in

I lie, still in the tub… my sobs quieten… my breathing quickens.

How dare he threaten me again after all he had already done! How dare he harass me again! How dare he try in his typical narcissistic bullying style to manipulate me so he can get his own way! How dare he dictate to me what I must do!!

Then the thought strikes, he doesn’t have any control here, he is the scared one not me!

I am prepared to stand in that court room and answer whatever is thrown at me. To have every last transaction for the past 12 months scrutinised. After all I have been honest. A trait that simply escapes him, a word he will never know the meaning of.

I had to ask myself;

“What was it that was holding him back?”

Seeing me? Maybe…It’s possible that I am the mirror he just cannot face; I am the reality that he is running from. Out of sight and out of mind for so long, now due to stand face to face and he cannot bear the thought.

No that’s not it.

It’s the fraud. Yes, THAT’S it.

You see, I showed my hand in the questions I raised on his, well, fictional financial documents. Documents that not only demonstrated, yet again, how little he thought of my intelligence whilst ironically proving his own lack of intellect.

Did he not think that I would spot the four police fines for solicitation? The interest hitting his account from a USA trust company- an account he failed to declare! The gaps in rental payments, the lack of utility payments and the transfers in and out to Gabi… (One of the MANY Other Women, whom, as a side note has a surname which literally translates to Limp-leg… Or as I prefer Lame ass! he he), would I not realise that he was living with her? Nor did he think I wouldn’t see the bailiff payments for his failure to pay council tax, or the blatant TAX evasion.  Oh what about the 54,000-euro loan that he claimed to have! The one he somehow managed to get on his 80K salary without any asset to secure it on. One for which there is no evidence of anywhere in his accounts never mind any repayments being made…

The penny has dropped…He cannot stand in a court room and answer questions on these so called “facts” without either being charged with perjury or fraud.

Gumption

I rise from my hide away tub and go to the office, wrapped in a towel but still dripping, my skin prickling as the cold air hits. Lifting a pen and a piece of paper I begin to weigh up the pros and cons of what’s on the table. The “agreement” I must abide by to avoid prosecution was nothing more than a joke. Obviously it’s stacked in his favour. If I agree, as it stands then I walk away with little more than a week’s childcare worth of money as my son’s maintenance.

Nope. That’s not how this was going to go. I turned my pen to making a different list. A list of my demands. My gumption was on the rise. I spill all that anger, all that pain on to the stark white A4 paper positioned square in front of me.

All of a sudden I feel light. Warm, despite my now chattering teeth.

The day of reckoning

I rise early. I prepare to look my best. I’m prepared to go in there and fight but more importantly I’m prepared to walk away with nothing and that gives me strength. It gives me power to overcome his attempts at intimidation. After all I’m secure in the belief that truth will prevail, and if nothing else, I stood up for what I believed in.

My thoughts are disturbed by the sound of my ringing phone. The name highlighted, illuminating the inevitable conversation with my lawyer.

She, in her usual forceful way launches in to her “Right now what we need to do is… blah blah”.

“Stop Christine! I have made some decisions and I wont be changed. I need you to take these down and tell him it’s this or court.”

“Ah ok”

I start to talk, after each point she intervenes “but a court wont agree to that” or “That’s more than he would have to pay if…”

Again I stop her.

“This isn’t about what a court would agree, this is about seeing exactly how scared he is of facing his judgement day, of seeing me, of risking prison.” “it’s this or court!”

“Ok” the line goes quiet. I dry my hair, smoke another cigarette.

I arrive at my mums’ house two hours before the time we are due in court, 45 minutes before I meet my lawyer. My phone buzzes with the dulcet tones of her calling me. I answer with trepidation.

“Its done!” “he agreed it all” she goes on “I tell you, you are one smart cookie, I cannot believe that you have managed to get all that from him!”

I’m speechless. I’m elated. Yet I’m weirdly empty. I had prepared myself for yet another “worse day of my life” moment. It’s gone, it’s over… I won!!! No court, well at least not for me. She and his (and again I use this term loosely, lawyer- (£500 all in lawyer)) go and have it all legally agreed so it’s binding. No wriggle room here big boy. And that’s it.

I go in to mums house, and I cry. Sob in fact. I hear mum, upon hearing me cry “what’s happened, what’s wrong?” All I could muster was “I WON”   She held me tight as she has done ‘oh so many times and I feel her shake in her embrace.

A couple of weeks have now past and the thought that he just wouldn’t sign, wouldn’t follow through continued to plague me throughout. But sign he has. The money has, well for A’s support at least, hit my account- so far so good.

So that’s it. I now choose when to make the divorce final, but I have one last condition that needs to be settled, but once it is I’m out. He is someone else’s problem. Or in his case many other people’s problem as from what I see there are still many more outside of “LAME ASS” … buying what he’s selling.

I’d like to end this post on a note. To all you ladies fighting with this system, these disgusting cowardly men, stand strong. Know yourselves and what you are worth. Don’t be bullied or scared by Narcissistic tactics and know when they hit out like this its because you called them on their bull shit. They’ve lost control and they hate it.

Who knows he may have already plotted my demise, I certainly don’t think I’m going to get away with this long term. he will strike again. But I won once and I will again. So too shall you!

 

Another milestone

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A couple of weeks ago one of my followers commented on one of my previous posts asking why I hadn’t or if I ever planned to write about “D Day”.  My reply was that it was just too painful to do so at this time but yes I eventually would.  Then last week this photo appeared in my Facebook memories feed…The announcement of my second pregnancy. Posted two years ago to the day, Feb 28th.

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It took me right back. To that place. You see I posted that picture tagging him in, strategically. And, as expected, within moments my news feed notifications sprung alive with messages of congratulations and love for me and my husband from friends and family near and far. I sat alone in my big cold German home with tears gushing down my sullen face watching the tally rise into the hundreds, comment, like, comment, like. I honestly don’t think there was anyone in our network who hadn’t seen it. Good.

You see what most people didn’t realise was that on this day, one of the two happiest days of my life, or what should have been was actually the worst. Known forever more as D Day…

My husband had left me for another woman only a matter of hours previous. Me 10 weeks pregnant. My posting of that picture- when the only other person in the world who knew at that time was Oliver, was not in celebration, to share my joy with the world, it was out of anger. If he was going to walk out on me I was going to make sure everyone knew that he had left me pregnant.

The following day also happened to be another significant day. Feb 29th. A leap year. 11 years ago to the day we got engaged. I’m not sure if it’s poetry in motion or an evil twist of fate that these two things coincided the way that they did, the beginning and the end of something wonderful nestled next to each other, hand in hand like sleeping twins… so close and yet so far. 11 years of a love cherished, memories made, traditions created, dreams realised, hopes shared, pain halved, struggles survived, successes celebrated and a child raised. Gone in the blink of an eye.

I sit today thinking about these two dates, the significance of yet another couple of milestones achieved, anniversaries past and rather than be sad about it, I’m celebrating. I’m celebrating because these dates just crept up on me. Without warning or notice. Bang there they were. Telling me that I’m done, at last; I was no longer dreading events, counting the days- forever looking back, I didn’t even notice that these dates were here already until they appeared on my feed.

Does this mean I’m healed? Well I wouldn’t go that far i clearly have a lot of issues to deal with (you’ll hear more about those soon) but one thing is for sure I am on my way. And that makes me smile. So today  I smile signing my divorce papers, knowing that i won. I won Financially, Emotionally and Physically, and i have my boys to celebrate with.

For those of you waiting to hear about D day you will. I’m ready. So watch this space over the coming weeks!

Day of reckoning

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I realise I have been MIA for quite some time now (sorry) but life has really been too hectic to describe. But don’t fear I will update you on what’s been going on as soon as I have time to breathe.

For now here I sit, hours away from attending court! Talk about a mashup of mixed emotions. Highs that drive a level of gumption that I never knew I had – especially given how hard he has worked to wear me down over the past two years. Compared with lows so disabling that all I can do is sob and blubber in defeat. It’s exhausting!

But here we are, at least here I am… He apparently is not planning to attend, “it’s inconvenient” – god my heart bleeds, but seriously why would he attend? We all know he is above the law. The very man (term used  loosely!) who chooses to hide behind the law when it suits him, is now hiding from the very same institution simply because he knows it will bring him to his knees- as it should!

His cowardliness at facing me and his day in court is palpable, to the degree that he has risked more than was already on the line to make a written threat to me only two days ago to bully and scare me into doing as he wishes.

Sadly for him I have truth on my side. Integrity in abundance. And balls way bigger than his 6 foot frame would ever allow!

So to you hear this and hear it loud!-  I’m not scared of you. I won’t back down and I will see justice for my boys done!

Calling “Bull Shit” on New Year, New You!

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New year new you Many people across the world will be sitting on this, another New Year’s Eve, the metaphorical and literal brink of a new dawn, reflecting on what was and contemplating what may be.
Making promises to themselves that this is their year. New Year, New Me!

Not me… I’m calling Bull Shit on “New Year, New Me”!

Almost everyday for the past 15 months I’ve looked back. I’ve analysed every detail of my past life with fresh eyes, with the benefit of hindsight and with the new knowledge I’ve gained along the way.

And you know what…Nothing’s changed!

The past is still the past. Nothing, not one thing has changed, not one iota. (Not that I would actually want it to change! But there we are)!

Conversely, I look ahead. I plan for the future, I set goals and targets, everyday. Milestones no matter how small or insignificant they may seem, they help me feel like I’m moving forward in some guise or another. One vitally important thing has, through this exercise, engrained itself in my mind; No amount of planning, wishing, hoping or believing will change the course of destiny. What will be will be. It’s that simple!!

I’m not saying don’t have dreams, and I’m not encouraging that you lose faith, far from it in fact. I’m not even saying don’t change or make plans to change. But do it despite “New Year”. Do it today, NOW. Tomorrow. Next week. Whenever you feel the need to change something in your life just get on with it. Don’t wait for the next birthday or the next New Year. Just do it now!

As a society we punish ourselves so much, always feeling less than. Always wishing we were more, could do more, earn more, love more. And with that and the dawn of a New Year comes massive expectation to full fill those wishes.

For what?

To punish ourselves that our resolutions failed before work starts again on the 4th. To look back and agonise, full of regrets of opportunities missed in the year gone by.

So why bother?

Why do we Insist on jumping on this band wagon year after year?

We just never learn!

So I sit here choosing to ignore the hype and instead select to bring in the new year with my boys. The only people in this world who know what my heart sounds like from the inside. And that makes me happy. We let off a Chinese lantern to mark the occasion, a symbol of letting the past go and bringing in the new with love and light. But that’s it – it’s just a symbol. I’m not going to dwell, but just live in the moment.

I won’t spout any clichés about my blessing and losses, I’ve done that enough over the course of this divorce journey. Nor will I make promises or resolutions only to be disappointed if the universe has other plans for me. I’m just going to wake tomorrow and see what this crazy life has in store for me. Come what may, whatever is waiting to greet me I’ll deal with it!

I’ll learn my lessons, in the moment and I’ll course correct accordingly. Right there and then!

So I say Bull Shit to New Year, New You”! And instead I say “Happy New Year to the best you you can be today tomorrow and everyday!”

To constant evolution.

To being kind to ourselves.

…Because we all deserve it!

Gifts from “Daddy”

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Christmas gifts

Another Christmas Day, come and gone.

A full year of moments, dates, special occasions passed as a single mother. It’s been 15 months now. I’ve gone through the full cycle, and I feel like I’ve finally hit my stride. Of course there are still some fleeting thoughts of what if’s, why me, how did this happen but they are few and far between. For the most part I’m either too busy with the necessitates of life or creating memories with my boys. Memories like yesterday. My first Christmas dinner as the hostess with the mostest again.

11 of my family descended upon me to devour a feast prepared by my own fair hands. These are the moments that matter. That said, the festive day did have a dark cloud of his size and shape looming over it. I tried my best to blow it away and to a large degree I did, but this morning it’s back, darker and gloomier than before.

The day before Christmas Eve my mum gave me a box, the front decorated with his child like scrawl, addressed to my boys. Some might say this is progress. He’s sending gifts (he didn’t even bother with a text last year) but I see it differently. I see her. His new cover story.

Albert received a big toy; dancing animals, flashing lights and songs sung in German. Oliver a book. The diary of a wimpy kid. And that right there is the point. He would have noticed the toy sung in German, her being German wouldn’t. He would have known that yes, Oliver liked (focus on past tense) the wimpy kid series… When he was 9!!! She again would not.

It makes me so angry. Sick in fact. It also makes me very curious as to what exactly he has told her about why he isn’t seeing the boys. My guess is I’m the bad guy, I’m unreasonable, I cut contact, I won’t let him see them…either way she is oblivious to the truth. In addition how can I keep gifts in my home that have been touched by her filthy home wrecking hands?

So what to do?

I could give them to his mum when I see her after Christmas (yes we’ve been in touch, but that’s a story for another post), I could send them back to him with a spiteful bitter note telling him if he wants to show he cares he should get off his hustler ass and buy them himself or not bother at all. Or I could send them to her, with a gift in return… A gift of the truth. Not my truth HER truth.

You see she thinks she’s the cat that got the cream; the handsome Man, the successful provider, the hero who showers her with praise, gifts and compliments all the while playing away like the filthy sewer rat he is. And she, the poor cow, has no clue. She sits smugly picking out gifts for my kids like she’s fucking Mother Teresa. Her pathetic attempts to help him smooth the way over what ever lie he’s fed her. If it wasn’t so pitiful it would be hysterical.

He is here in the UK. I don’t know, nor care if she’s here. But I know he is. He flashed up on my tinder profile on the 23rd only 29km away. Even at Christmas he can’t just enjoy friends and family, he just has to find a local squeeze. Even funnier he is using old photos, pictures taken whilst with me. On one he actually cut me out of the pictures… Cheeky so and so. It’s truly very sad.

Back to the question in hand… What should I do?

I really have no idea what the best option is, but I do know we will not be keeping these gifts sitting here with them in our home turns my stomach. So I simply cannot sit and watch my beautiful boys with these items when all I see is her…does that make me a terrible person? Putting my own bitterness ahead of my children’s enjoyment of a couple of stupid toys?!

What would you do, I’d love to hear?!

 

Sunday Mornings

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Our churchToday I’m in a funk. Actually I’ve been in this funk for a few days now. Maybe it’s just the time of year, dark gloomy weather combined with the memories of the past Christmas, my first alone in oh, such a long time. My first with Albert. Or possibly it’s just sheer exhaustion gained from a gregarious baby who is simply refusing to sleep! Either way I’m feeling low.

I shouldn’t really be sad, I mean I sit here today cosy in my warm home, the wind blowing a gale outside my window. Albert’s snuggled in under my chin watching Christmas movies both of us in our pj’s and Oliver still in bed… He is a teenager after all. What could be better?

Well it’s Sunday morning. Which for as long as I can remember was my time. Prior to our moved to DE “he” would take Oli out for an adventure and give me an extra hour or two in bed. Bliss! We playfully called it “daddily duddly” time! The “adventure” itself may have only been going for a hair cut or a trip to the supermarket but let’s face it, time alone with daddy to a little boy is always exciting.

Oli loved their mornings together. On their return he would babble away about the games they played whilst driving; who won at eye spy and that daddy cheated, as always! Him beaming at his happy boy and the fun they had. A proud daddy for sure! Me happy with the love in my home. Life was good!

Then we moved to DE and the ritual of me time continued. The only difference being without the sleep. I would potter on in to town to meet my ladies. Two amazing ladies might I add!

Sunday morning breakfast became our church. We complained about the kids, the husbands, the other mum’s, chevron stripes, work etc but we always laughed. God we laughed! Especially when it came to ordering (in our broken German) which often went something like this…
“drei Omelettes mit Schinken und Käse bitte”
“drei?”
“Ja.”
“mit Schinken und Käse?”
“Ja!!!”
“Omelettes?”
“JA!”

Her-Huffs gets stress, cannot understand three women ordering three breakfasts.

Us- roll eyes, giggle- why doesn’t she get this? Every week it’s the same ritual?? Seriously even our German isn’t that bad!

During the summer we would sit outside basking in the sun for way too long; batting off calls from the kids fighting back home, or texts from the hubby asking where we put whatever unimportant object he couldn’t find, because it’s not right under his nose.
We would plan our next outing – generally a beer festival of some kind, or just a good old drinking session! During the winter we moved inside drowning in layer upon layer of German winter protection!

We would reminisce of times past, friends absent – still missed, but we always laughed. Regardless of the seriousness of the topic of the day these ladies knew just how to take any situation and take the piss. Even surviving cancer didn’t escape our gentle teasing!

On the occasions my ladies and I didn’t meet, “he”, Oli and I would do something together. Go to a flomarkt, visit a new town, go for a bike ride or simply go for breakfast together in one of the hundreds of cafes on our doorstep. It was great family time. Once again I felt so blessed for the joy and love in my home. Life in my eyes couldn’t have been better. Clearly he and I were not on the same page…he took advantage of my “me time” to get some “him” time  and the second I left the house he dashed off to shag his slutty mistress of the day!

After “D day” breakfast with my bitches continued but now we had a new team member in Albert!
Loved and pamper by my girls the poor kid was swapped between them a million times during those few hours together.
The laughing had slowed as they listened sympathetically to whatever new piece of information I had to share on the state of my once happy life and marriage. Even after weeks and months of story’s of his disgraceful behaviour they still sat and listened to my endless whining. Always offering support, words of love, of strength.
Often shocked at the new revelation but yet not surprised. Even back then, with the little we knew of exactly what he had been doing, we wouldn’t have put anything past him. He was capable of anything! And has proven as such a million times over.

Those breakfasts were my sanctuary, my safety, my sanity! And today they are still so precious to me, so much so, as I sit here today I miss it so much it hurts.

God bless you ladies and the memories you’ve given me. I hope and pray that this Devine universe will one day give us all Sunday morning breakfast together once again!

xxx

It still hurts

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On this exact day 12 months ago I visited my estranged husband in his new flat. At this point he had been gone just over two months and we hadn’t spoken a word in over a month.

He just went AWOL in typical narc style he just shut me out, totally and completely. Like I never existed, we – he and I, our children and I never existed.

He was shocked to see me there, understandably so, as he never expected that I would find out where he live. Find out I did. And so there we were. Dead of night, snow on the ground and over an hours drive from where I lived, we lived. Standing face to face.

On the drive over I was terrified what I would find there, how I would react actually seeing him. What he may say. Would she be there? But when the moment came it was clear he was more petrified than I.

Calmly I told him I only wanted a few moments of his time, that I had a few things to say and then I’d go.    He stepped aside and let me in. Observant as always I couldn’t help but notice his pitiful existence, our old garden furniture as his dining room table (actually there wasn’t a dining room just a kitchen and living room, no bigger than out old family bathroom). No niceties, no photos. Just his books and DVDs adorning the nasty ikea shelving.

Big shot Director hey?!

Sitting in the corner I spy a pair of Dr Martin boots. The rebel in him, of course he knew I hated them; we used to joke about him “not being allowed” them, so it’s not a shock to me that the second he is “free” he goes right out and buys a pair… #midlifecrisis!

Anyway I make my way in and start my well rehearsed speech. Me perched on the window sill, him on the edge of the old sofa bed from Oliver’s bedroom, his  eyes firmly set on the floor. I tell him that I forgive him. That he is a good man. I don’t care who he is with or what he is doing but I can’t allow him to make the mistakes he is making without at least trying to make him see sense. That the only people who really matter in all this mess are the boys. Our boys. All we need to do is to pull together; communicate and we can make it work without hostility or conflict. We didn’t have to be “one of those couples”

Albert is in the car seat in the floor. He hasn’t even looked at him. I remove him gently from his harness and place him smiles beaming on his knee. I tell him that he loves to sing “if your happy and you know it”. To my surprise he starts singing it, clapping Albert’s hands with the rhythm. Albert of course giggles and charms in his special little way. My heart melts.

For a moment, he is smiling, engaging, I see the old him. The him I fell in love with, not this shadow of a man who is now no more than a stranger to me. But it’s over as quickly as it began, as he takes to his feet and hands Albert back to me. And he’s gone.. Retreated back in to his new cold hard emotionless shell. Never to be seen again!

And so we are done.  I leave but not before I see him hide his tears. The mother in me wants to make it better, I’m compelled to. I place Albert down and I hold him. At first it’s awkward. He just stands there, then slowly he let’s go and holds me back as he cries. I tell him everything will be ok, to let it go.

Ops..I hit a nerve. He pushes me away and paces up and down the room, animatedly telling me I don’t understand; he’s done so many terrible things, he had so much to deal with. I offer to help. I’m refused.

I leave to take the long, cold and frankly dangerous drive home but I feel calm. Hopeful. There’s a part of me that feels like I’ve reached him. Now I’ll give him space and when he is ready we can then move forward.

A couple of weeks later. My optimism is shattered. Divorce papers. Filed on Nov 2nd. He had already filed when I saw him and yet he never even mentioned it, and his reasoning…such lies. I mean not slight exaggerations just out and out lies.
Here’s a snippet! ” he was trapped in our marriage due to me being totally and utterly dependant on him for everything” “I treated him like a Slave” “I never took any responsibility for the home or the raising of my son from a previous relationship!”

No mention of his affairs, his illegitimate child – 6 weeks older than Albert, or the fact that I was the higher earner and supported him out of work on three occasions, that he moved in with me in to my home, I did all the running around with Oliver, we had a cleaner in the home and I did all the cooking and shopping, paying bills etc

So I ask, define slave please? define dependant! No let’s go with an easy one-define trapped!

Little did I know at that point exactly how much of a liar he really was, a real fantasist. But it wouldn’t take long for that story to be told..and sadly it’s not done yet!

Day after day more information comes to me. Most of which I ignore. But I can’t help but wonder where did he go wrong. Where did we go wrong? What could I have done to help.. I mean I know this isn’t my fault but maybe if I had seen the signs earlier it might not have got this far.

Then today, 12 months on I receive yet another surprise package of delightfulness. Videos (of the xxx nature), messages between him and maybe another 6-7 women, lots of photos of more women, new ones, some have children. More innocent lives in the process of being ruined.

My stomach turns. My hands shake and I light a cigarette.

It still hurts!

For Fuck’s sake! It still hurts!

I hate that it gets to me and I’m choking on my own words even saying it, but it’s true. I don’t love him that I know, and I’ll never ever have him in my life again but it hurts to see this.

The sweet photos quotes he used to send me now go elsewhere – in multiples! He plays with someone else’s child yet ignores ours… Where’s the logic in that?  He clearly likes being a dad or maybe it’s just easier to get a single mum for a fat, overly hairy yet balding middle-aged man wearing Dr Martins, the kids just part of the deal.

That aside and back to me; Degraded, stupid, embarrassed and sad. That’s what this does to me, still 12 months on. Will it ever stop?!

People watching

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People watching

I love people watching. Strange hobby some might say, but seriously I just love it!! I could whittle away hours nursing a venti decaf black Americano whilst the world passes by under my watchful eye. I don’t get to do it as often as I used to, I mean, let’s face it as a single mother of two it’s a bit of a luxury to even contemplate giving myself the time to sit and just be, let alone to enjoy this “me time” outside of the home with a steaming hot cup of deliciousness as my only companion. Now bubba’s in nursery part-time, I feel like I’m finally getting my house in order, so I will, without regret or hesitation allow myself this luxury (and so should you!)…I’m getting my people watching mojo back! And as with every little step I take, each milestone I hit on this crazy journey of mine it feels good. Different but good different.

At one point in time… (Pre D day) I have to admit, my people watching had, well, a judging tone to it. Ok let’s be honest here, I was a complete bitch!!! I just couldn’t help myself, sneering and commenting on the unsuspecting beings going about their daily routines just outside the dirty Starbucks window… what is she wearing? what’s he doing with her? Worst of all “oh my god that kid is ugly”… ( I know as a mother that’s a terrible thing to say, but let’s face it some kids just are  aesthetically challenged.. Fact!!). Now on reflection maybe that harsh critiquing of people whom I know absolutely nothing about, (and I mean literally nada) was my own unconscious unhappiness untamed and unleashed on the unsuspecting, undeserving general public! I guess hindsight is really a wonderful thing in teaching us about ourselves.

Anyway I’m pleased to report that these days not so much criticising happens during my fav past time (once again, maybe this is a reflection of my own new peaceful, positive state of mind?)
So with my (large) mug of joy in hand I claim my spot on a soft and soggy velvet armchair, get comfortable, and watch. I ponder the individual stories of those who catch my attention.

To set the scene of today’s vigil, It’s a couple of weeks to Christmas. Lights sparkle with festive gloriousness casting a warm, hug like glow on the marble floors of the usually stark Trafford Center. The shops won’t open for another hour yet but already there’s a soft buzz of activity as the more organised of us “get in early to beat the crowds” hustling to stock up on the perfect gift for that special person. The shop workers rushing around setting up for another day greeting and serving the foot soldiers of consumerism who undoubtedly won’t  take the time to say thank you!

I sit, now slightly cooler decaf in hand and watch. The man on the mobility scooter, the pretty (overly made up) young lady talking animatedly on her on her phone.

The man with his son. He’s kept occupied watching him play mischievously up and down the walkways. He’s tall and dark, handsome in a rugged unkempt way, the little boy white blonde, a toddler with an infectious smile and giggle that would melt the coldest of hearts stumbling as he perfects his new skill of walking. He is so, so happy playing with daddy. From my corner I feel their love. It makes me smile but inside a pain threatens to claw through my chest. I look away and my gaze is caught again. Yellow and blue polyester. Necktie and waistcoat, smart and clean. In fact perfectly turned out. She gently passes me by pushing her massive utility trolley adorned with cleaning paraphernalia; brushes, mops, sprays, bottles, bin bags you name it she has it. She sees me looking and we catch eyes. Almost immediately she looks away, looks down.

No!!! she thinks I’m judging her. I’m not! Guilt flashes though me. I’ve made her feel bad!
Only a moment passes until she looks at me again, I smile at her in a vain attempt to tell her I’m not casting judgement on her. This time she holds my gaze a moment longer, her eyes are tired, sad. She breaks away again and buries herself in her work.

Then it hits me. She doesn’t think I’m judging her at all, It’s all in her eyes. It’s shame! She’s ashamed to be seen. She’d rather be part of the fixtures, behind the scenes. Invisible.

I begin to wonder why. who is she, what’s her story is and what journey led her here, to this place of sadness and regret.  Was she a high flyer, who for whatever reason fell off the corporate ladder and is now doing what she can to pay the bills, whilst being thankful she’s at least working. If so,  I know she often wonders why this happened to her. Where did her life go?
Or maybe she is a single mum who has always struggled to make ends meet and although she is grateful for the wages she works so hard for she can’t help but feel there’s just no point, what’s it all for? Life never gets any easier.  Maybe she has lost and love one and with it her own joy.

Whatever her story, whatever her reasons, to that lovely graceful lady cleaning the Trafford Center; you have no reason to be ashamed (if that was indeed what I saw in your eyes) or to be sad. You take pride in yourself and in your work, that much I can see. You work hard and I’m sure you are kind and honest, all things to be proud of. So you maybe down on your luck – (according to your own standard), or maybe life has just changed for you, who knows – I definitely don’t but what I do know is this. Whatever your battle, you are still standing and that says a lot. You picked yourself up and got on with it, you’re still getting on with it. Your doing your best and that’s enough, so take a moment to be kind to yourself, forgive yourself… you deserve it. X