A House Warming Present

"How well adjusted am I? I just put together a house warming present for P" I jokingly boasted to a friend two days ago.

I pulled out a large collage photo frame that we had bought ages ago but never had gotten around to filling, and printed out several photos so P could have something of our kids at his new place.

In there were photos of our three children together, of the older two doting over baby I shortly after she was born (she is now 8 weeks), of his mum and dad with our children, of him with his brother and dad one Christmas. But there are no photos of me in there. Or us. No wedding photo, no photo taken in the early days of our relationship where the happiness beamed through our smiles and our eyes, no photo of me with any of our children. 

I don't want to be there on his wall, a reminder to our kids when they are there, that I am not. I don't want to be a witness when one day he brings someone else back to his place. 

But also because it has been a long time since we had any photos taken together. Because there are only a few photos of me with our children. And that makes me a little upset. No matter how many times I brought this to his attention, nothing changed. And I remind myself of the occasionally annoying, hurtful things he did. Not to be mean, but to help counter balance the good guy image he has. To remind myself that while he was lovely, generous, thoughtful, he was not perfect. That he was often more helpful to others, than those at home waiting for him. To help me cope.

But as I put this frame together it felt good. It felt good that I was doing something nice for our kids, and that even though it still hurt, that I was able to do something nice for P.

Three Weeks from Ground Zero

It's been a big three weeks.

Three weeks ago you confirmed something I had been hoping you wouldn't. That you wanted out. Since then, between the tears and the pain, I have focused on growing from this experience and becoming a stronger person. Some key things that have happened:

Practically:
I had my first meeting with a solicitor, started to put together a budget, spent hours putting in a claim for government benefits and child support, wrote a parenting plan, typed up a list to help work out who gets what in the house, met with real estate agents about possible selling our house and trialled a couple of apps to help with our shared care arrangements.

Personally:
I have thought a lot on the things in me I need to be aware of.
I have found a supportive and steadfast friend in someone I had previously thought of as a good acquaintance.
I have started to reach out to other people - to make contact, to ask for little favours.
I wrote a letter to my parents saying some home truths about our relationship, and how my mother upsets me in her lack of support for me.
I have thought a lot on how supportive and accommodating I had been as a wife. I've also thought a lot about what I will not compromise on again in future relationships. That essentially I will always be honest, and will not sell myself short.

And I can now say "P and I are separated" without crying. And that in itself is pretty big.

Moving Out

Over the last couple of days, he's been moving out. Gradually setting up his new life in his new place.

His half of the wardrobe is getting emptier.

Some of our crockery, glasses, cutlery is being emptied from drawers and packed into boxes.

The lovely collage artwork we were given as a wedding present has been taken off the wall.

The first night he slept at his new home, our eldest boy left with him. He's finding it very exciting - he loves helping his dad set up his new place. The novelty of the blow up bed, eating breakfast using a box as a table, opening up new doors and playing in a new backyard.

As they left I couldn't look at him. I didn't want my eldest to see my eyes well up with tears.

I could feel him try to reach out to me a couple of times before he left, but I turned my back. I find myself occasionally saying something hurtful, or blocking out any attempt he makes to reach out as a way of trying to control the situation. To maybe hurt him a little in response for all the hurt he has caused me.

That night we spoke on the phone.
"You know this is really weird for me too" he had said.
I kind of believe him because he doesn't lie. But I find it hard to believe him. He created this situation. I didn't. He has the power in this situation, I don't. He has put me in this situation, and he feels weird? I don't believe it. But if he does, I'm fucking glad.

Over the last couple of days, he's been packing the car, slowly removing traces of himself from the house. Each visit gets easier. And the desire to cut the shirts that still hang in the wardrobe ebbs away a little more.