Divorce brings on a whole host of emotions. In my divorce support group they’ve referred to these emotions as a roller coaster. From my experience these past 4.5 months, this is seriously no joke.

I made the best decision I could based on the situation. I knew I could not stay, and I think deep down my ex wanted me to leave too. But just because I decided to leave doesn’t mean I would have ever been ready to or felt good about it. Living with uncertainty is difficult. Grieving the love that used to be is hard. I question myself as a mother constantly. I question if there is something wrong with me. I wonder if I’ll ever find a loving relationship, or if my standards are too high. The worst part is half the time I’m not sure if these are emotions I’m naturally processing or if it’s because my ex said these things to me so much that he actually affecected how I think about myself.

Last week I had a great week. I was excited that my divorce was finally progressing. Signing the divorce paperwork for me was emotionally the biggest relief- we had finally come to an agreement and we were going to move forward and I might be able to start moving on with my life. I thought I was making real progress emotionally. After the couple weeks prior where I was processing the emotions of him having a new girlfriend, introducing the kids to her, and my grandma passing away, I felt relief that we were able to reach an agreement and that now we just have to wait for a judge. I felt like my life was about to change for the better and he and I could stop fighting. I am so tired of the fighting.

Then this weekend came. I got my storage container. Packing my belongings up and moving them out of the house was long overdue. I left 4.5 months ago and left all my belongings in the house. The house where we had the last argument and I knew it was over. The house that I hated coming home to because I would be sick to my stomach every night. The house that hasn’t felt like home in a LONG time. The house where he begged me not to leave on more than on one occasion. I left my belongings in the home I bought with my husband who had just come home from war. The house I thought I would raise my kids in until they went off to college. The house where I had dreams and hopes and thought I would grow old with the man I loved. Or, maybe I just thought I loved him, I’m not really sure anymore. The house that he brought his new girlfriend to. I left my stuff behind, maybe because I couldn’t stand the thought of giving up all my hopes and dreams. The dreams that made me stay up late at night and study to earn my degree. My home for nearly 10 years. It was my home and I left my stuff behind. But when I left it was no longer home.

So this weekend, I had to start to rip the band aid off. I had avoided moving my stuff from the house because it made it all too real. I was happy as a clam to sign the paperwork and be divorced. But I still hadn’t really started processing ending the marriage. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I have so many scars from my marriage that haven’t healed. Maybe they never will. As I packed my belongings, I couldn’t help but think of all the time we spent growing our dreams together. I questioned my decision to leave. I wondered if I had made the biggest mistake of my life leaving the father of my children and man I vowed to stay with through good times and bad, in front of our families and God. If maybe he moved on because he was somehow worth more than me. Man those thoughts hurt.

Then I sat at the kitchen table of the house that used to be home, and remembered all the times we didn’t eat together as a family. I remember all the times I cringed when he came close to me. How many times he criticized the food I cooked and consequently I stopped cooking all together. I remembered the times he questioned my faithfulness to him whenever I brought home an “A” grade or got a raise at work. I remembered the manipulation, and the lies. I remember the drinking. I remembered being blamed for his wrong doings. Mostly I remember how he made me feel. Every. Single. Day.

I know in my heart I did the right thing for me and my children. I know that the God I believe in doesn’t want His children to be miserable. Why is it written in the Bible that we’re not supposed to be divorced, which causes people to wish and pray that their spouse will be the first to go so that death would part them? I don’t think any of this is what God intended. I don’t think God wanted us to be trapped with no way out wishing harm upon one another. But how, in this time where I need God the most, how does it seem like I have more doubts and questions than there will ever be time for answers?

So I packed my belongings into a storage container. And I started to actually say good bye to the life I used to know. And as I drove away with no kids in my car since it was his weekend I bawled. It hurt almost as much as the day I left. Every inch of my body ached. And as the tears rushed down my face, I realized even though I thought I had it all together, and I thought I was making progress with the divorce and my emotions, that I was still riding a roller coaster. And that this ride may not end for a while. All I can do is brace myself for the next drop. This roller coaster of emotions is really no joke.