“Before” meaning divorce.
Not that I would like to continue to propagate this label or that divorce has been the be-all and end-all for me…but what it has done is continue to be a catalyst for me. A catalyst in comparing the ‘me’ then and the ‘me’ now, of course. And a catalyst, period. I guess at this point, it’s no secret that I don’t hide behind the label of divorce, but I also don’t suffer from it, call it failure or think I’ve been dealt a bad hand.
It was simply what was meant to happen. And learning from an experience like that is just – well – life-altering.
Back to my point.
Something I wouldn’t have done before my divorce?
Well, it’s also no secret that I used to be a ‘frady cat. Scared of my own shadow, practically, at my house, and hating pretty much everything about being alone, especially at home (it didn’t help that our house was broken into a mere 6 months after we bought it. Talk about the feeling of fear and unsafety! This is one of many reasons I barely slept in the 10 months I lived in the house after we separated or stayed with my sister! FEAR!).
Rewind to this morning. I stayed at M’s last night and came home around 6:30 this morning. I went to unlock my front door of my apartment (it’s a townhouse complex, so all the doors are exterior, no buzzers to get into a building and then an apartment door from there) and it was ajar.
As in, open.
My heart dropped to my chest. I stood there for a minute. Was thisclose to fleeing to my car. But I took a deep breath and without a second thought, opened the door as I dialed my sister (just in case…and maybe for moral support!), who didn’t answer. I put my stuff down. Stood still. Listened. My cats trotted toward me, completely normal (figured that was a good sign. Not hiding or scared). I then proceeded to look in every closet, under the bed (even though it’s really far too low to the ground to actually fit anyone underneath!) behind the washer/dryer and in my shower.
Sure, I was kind of freaked out, but the main reason I was not as scared was that I was reasoning with myself. Nothing was gone, nothing unkempt. And I also backtracked and realized it was my fault. Last night, I got my mail and shut the door. Didn’t lock it because I was on my way out the door in 5 minutes. Then I decided to take the trash out (the back door), and completely forgot that I had unlocked the front door. Sooo, I basically left the front door unlocked all night long (wind must have shoved it slightly ajar by morning).
And it was fine.
And I was fine.
Not scared (well, a little, but not like, hysterical as I would have been previously, I am pretty damn sure).
My sister even offered to have my brother in law come over and check it out…’just in case.’ I probably would have accepted before. But I was pretty sure it was fine, and throughout the day, I have been here, and all has been completely normal.
It didn’t dawn on me that what I did was somewhat courageous until I told my mom the story when we met for lunch. As I recapped the story, I thought to myself, “Hmm. Guess that was pretty tough to do, huh?”
Sure, it was my fault and I kind of figured that out as I was checking. But still. You never know.
So for that, I am proud. It’s just one step further for me in the courage department. It’s something I wouldn’t have done before.
And that feels pretty bad ass.