A Cloudy Day...

I've been withholding, Groupies.

PS - from now on (or until I forget, or get tired of it), you who read this blog will be termed "Groupies".

It makes me feel popular and famous (even though there are only like 5 of you).

Blame Steve - he got me thinking about having cute little nicknames because he decided that he wanted a code name like what The Pioneer Woman has for her husband, Marlboro Man.

I was like...what the hell?! Has he ever even read my blog? Obviously not or he would know that he already has a code name. Sunshine. It's the title of the blog, yo. I am the Jellybean and he is the Sunshine...

So from now on (or until I forget, or get tired of it), Steven will be referred to as Mr. Sunshine. 

Which is totally fitting because he is my sunshine, on many a cloudy day. Which leads me into what this post is actually about...

...a cloudy day (or two).

I almost didn't write this post, Groupies, but then decided that I owed it to myself.

I almost didn't write it, because somewhere along the line, this turned into a cooking blog. And as I continued to use it as a cooking blog, and I "met" dozens of other cooking bloggers, I started getting away from the actual reason that I started this blog:  

Me.

I didn't really want my new blog friends to judge me or stop reading my blog, and I didn't want my "real" (for lack of a better term) friends and family to worry about me. 

And also because I am a technological failure and I have no idea how to make separate tabs, so that people that come her for a recipe can click on a "cooking" or "recipes" tab, and people that come here because they like to listen to me ramble, vent, bitch or cry, can click on a "ramble and vent, you crying bitch" tab (now would be the time that my geeky computer friends would step in and do it for me show me how, please?). So I just started to eliminate the journaling all together, except to share happy news or to tell you how awesome I was.

Well...right now, Groupies...I am not feeling particularly happy or awesome. And even though I don't want any of you to judge me, or worry about me, or stop reading my blog - I have to do what is best for me.

So now you get to listen to a very sad story. Feel free to stop reading now if you want to.

Once upon a time, when I was pretty young, I fell in love with a man. I spent all of my time with this man, moved away to college with him, then to a different state, got engaged, moved back to our home state and eventually got married. We bought a home together, supported eachother through personal crisis, family deaths, failures, disappointments, victories and happy times.

But somehow, somewhere along the line, the thread that was our marriage began to unravel.

It happens in every marriage - you put too much stress on your rope, and it starts to break down. If you tend to this troubled spot, and work at it and fix it and care for it...then the thread doesn't break. It gets stronger. If you ignore it, and pretend like it isn't happening, it eventually becomes a weakness in your rope. And as more trials, tribulations, miscommunications, stresses and problems rub bare spots in your marriage...if you don't fix those fragilities...eventually, your thread will break.

We let our thread break.

And after making a series of the hardest decisions I have ever made in my life, we made a permanent separation, and I set to the task of trying to repair what was left of my life. And what a task that was. I had no idea where to start. We had been together since I was 17 years old, and for over a decade...more than a third of my short life. Where do you even begin?

Day by day, with the help of my family and friends, I learned to put one foot in front of the other when I felt like it was impossible to do anything else.

And then I met Steve (aka Mr. Sunshine). Steve is a caregiver by nature, and he provided me with exactly what I needed: patience, support, love, and lots and lots of attention.

Not long after we started seeing eachother, he was diagnosed with cancer.

I attempted to give all of those things back to him that he had given me (love, support, patience, attention).

The thing about Steve is, though, that he is always more concerned with everyone else, instead of himself.

When I sat through chemo with him, he held my hand, and said comforting things to me. When I would feel scared or overwhelmed, he would tell me that everything was going to be ok. And we got through it.

He became my rock. My security blanket. My platform from which I could go out and find myself and heal.

And I did. With the continuing help of him, my family, some fantastic friends, yoga, self help books, cooking, a therapist, several cases of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay, blogging, and hours of snuggle time with my dog Kempton, I started to feel more like myself than I had in years.

But then, after a very long separation that included several hours of discussions, fights, negotiations, and bargaining; my estranged husband and I finally filed the divorce papers. I signed the final document yesterday.

I thought I would feel relieved. Happy. Free.

Instead I got out of my attorney's office as fast as I could, and had a giant meltdown the second I got into my car.

Years of sadness, guilt, doubts, fear, anger and frustration hit me like a freight train.

All of the feelings that I had thought that I had worked through and dealt with came back to the surface. Wounds that I had nursed and licked clean and let heal felt like they were reopened.

For whatever reason, I felt like I needed to have some communication with him. To apologize. To say a few things that I needed to get off of my chest. And then, to say goodbye. So I did. And I doubt he could understand a word of it, I was crying so hard.

Then I came home to Steve's open arms, always patient and understanding (even when I know, if the situations were reversed, I wouldn't be able to be nearly that calm or rational), and I cried it out.

Then my soul friend Stephanie called me and I cried it out again.

Then Steve took me out for sushi and for a walk on the beach, and I cried it out again.

Then I woke up today, feeling exhausted and like I was beat with a metal pipe, and put one foot in front of the other. I went to work, I showed Steve how much I love and appreciate him, I went to yoga, I made a homemade chicken pot pie (don't worry - I already had the filling ready, I just had to thaw it, assemble it and bake it) because comfort food always helps, and I sat down to tell my story here.

I understand that some of the people that read this might think worse of me. Maybe you don't believe in divorce, or don't believe in starting another relationship before the divorce is complete. Maybe you think I should buck up like a big girl. Maybe you think I went about it all wrong, made mistakes from the very beginning. Maybe you think I took the easy road.

Maybe you love me anyway.

Either way, I just wanted to share with you how I was feeling today, and why. Because this blog is more than just a cooking blog to me. And I owe it to myself to be honest about my mistakes, and learn from them.

Because some day, this might be a distant memory...one that doesn't carry any weight, or pain, or sadness.

Or maybe in a couple of weeks when the judge signs the papers, and my divorce is official...maybe I will be able to breathe a sigh of relief and know that without a doubt, I am going to be just fine.

Maybe.

But for now, I'll just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

In the meantime, thanks for listening to me. And thanks to all of you who have put your judgments aside and shown me support and love over the past couple of years. I appreciate it more than you know.

"fail spectacularly forward"  ~ Swami Rama