I've blogged about my life, off and on, for 18 years. All of my retired blogs, back to the first one I had when I was 19 (that I thought I successfully "deleted"), still exist online. The internet is forever, kids.
Being a blogger is a strange thing when something happens that you don't want to talk about. Because what you do is write about your life; every experience begs to be written and shared. Some call it a sickness, and they say I should never share the things I share.
I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't written anything here since March. It's hard to turn off the desire to publish something because when you do share, someone always responds, "Me too." The affirmation that you aren't the only weirdo who feels this way is medicine.
Even though I haven't blogged for almost five months, I've come to understand "in this day and age" that privacy is hard to come by, even when you say nothing. Saying nothing--when you usually say all the things--is almost worse. I say nothing when I don't know how to process my life, when I don't know how I feel. I say nothing when saying something grants people who aren't my close friends and family permission to respond with opinions I don't want to hear, or I'm not ready to hear.
But I think I'm ready to say things. And I've grown more comfortable with blocking and unfriending and ignoring.
This is what I've been doing:
- At the end of February, my husband and I separated. I moved out.
- In March, when I last wrote, a 22-year old infection in my skull finally healed. And I learned that maybe I wasn't as introverted as I thought I was.
- In April, I was promoted at work and filed for divorce from my husband. Sleep became increasingly difficult to find at night and I discovered what anxiety attacks feel like.
- In May, we should've been celebrating 11 years of marriage. And I unknowingly started a collection of body parts as decor in my apartment.
- In June, I got two new tattoos and graduated from the UW Editing Certification program. It is the first thing I have ever completed at a University level. You can hire me to edit things.
- In July, I turned 37 on a Monday and was divorced on that Friday. I took a month-long leave of absence from work because life just... hurt, and I needed time to heal. I ended the month by jumping my legs off.
- And now, in August, I've returned to work and my last name is Gurley again. I need to practice writing it, like I used to do as a teenage girl. I'm also learning how to live alone again, as a single person. It's weird, but also fine.
So there's a pretty heavy snapshot; and after writing it all out, I'm wiped. It may seem like not enough words, not enough of an explanation, but I chose those words carefully and they are the only ones I want to share.
Even when you know you made the best decision you could've made for yourself, it doesn't mean there is a lack of love and everything is magically okay. I will grieve until it no longer lingers in my belly; every emotion deserves to be felt in whatever way it comes.
I cry, but I also create; I'm sad, but I've also come back to life.