What this blog ISN’T.

There are many blogs and websites dedicated to an optimistic, helpful approach toward an eventual understanding between the sexes. This is not one of them.

This is simply a foray into the deeply sarcastic and wounded mind of a wife and mother of a one and a two year old who was blindsided, betrayed, and abandoned by her husband…for a stripper claiming pregnancy who already had 2 kids of her own. If you’re wondering if there’s really a niche readership for that, this may not be the site for you. But everyone is welcome here.

I not only think there is a niche, I think this site should serve as every betrayed woman’s homepage on Explorer. Or Chrome. Whichever you hate least.

I’ve been taking classes through my church to try to deal with the emotional fallout. It’s been cathartic and hellish and wonderful all at the same time. I took a class called DivorceCare, which was outstanding, and now I’m in a bible study called ‘Healing for Damaged Emotions’. There’s a workbook. There’s prayer. We drink coffee and commiserate. It’s everything I need to get better, I tell myself. Well…sorta.

A friend of mine gave me a book to read the other day called ‘How to Heal the Hurt by Hating.’ It is…hilarious. Genius. A delight for lovers of sarcasm and snark. Since sarcasm is my mother tongue, I realized…there’s a place for both of these approaches. There’s a place for my prayers, and a place for my sarcastic rage. I can’t deny my darker responses to all of this, nor do I have the desire to pretend I’m ‘above’ that darkness simply because I’m a Christian. I know that I’m not supposed to ‘give in’ to the hatred and rage, but rather, be transformed by the renewing of my mind through Christ. Yes, I do get this.

But tell me then, if you could, where this rage is supposed to GO.

It exists. It needs an escape valve, because if not, it’s going to consume me and give me cancer. I’m clinging to that rage with white knuckled fervor, somehow believing that he will be held into account for his actions if I can just hold on to it a bit longer. So until someone can tell me how to unfurl my nails from the insides of my palm, I will be here clinging. Purging. Waxing philosophical. And laying into the HomeWrecker that had an active role in the destruction of my beautiful fledgling family that never had a chance to get off the ground.

This is why you will not find a traditional ‘believer’s’ approach to positivity, healing, and faith in all of my posts. Quite the contrary.

You’ll find a mix of every emotion I’ve experienced, because that is simply the reality. One day, you might find a post about forgiveness and restoration, and the next you’ll read about my desire to humiliate HomeWrecker in an epic, no holds barred interview (sourced entirely from my imagination). Point is, I want to say to other women in my shoes ‘Hey, it’s OK to want to firebomb an entire city block…so long as you never actually do it, and so long as you know the eventual goal is to one day put the proverbial napalm away and let God do His thing in your heart. Because when you’re finally ready to hear the word ‘forgiveness’ without throwing up, He’s exceptionally good at making the impossible…possible.

Hey, I’m not claiming I’m there yet. I’m just saying that He’s the only resource I’ll need by my side when…if that day ever comes.

For those of you hoping for some formulaic conformity to the ‘rules’ about how uplifting or depressing a blog like this should be, I’m sorry to say you will be disappointed. There are no timetables or agendas here about how long the examination of this pain will take. This is a unique brand of emotional injury, one that is excruciating and all-encompassing. The pain and rage and sadness and injustice seep into every single cell of a woman’s heart.

In short, it sucks.

Yes, it’s ok to say that it sucks, and no, I have no timetable at my disposal that will help me to glimpse when it will suck less for me or anyone else going through it.

Do I want to heal and help others do so? Of course I do. I don’t intend to languish here forever. But someone killed something precious to me, and this blog is the autopsy. Without dissecting this in its entirety, there is no closure for me. I would argue that a senseless death cannot be properly mourned without it.

If you can relate to any of this, you and I are now a part of a really crappy club…one we would never have joined on our own. But now that we’re members, I say to you ‘Welcome! We have awesome 7 layer dip and we eviscerate HomeWreckers here. Pull up a chair and stay a spell.’

I want to capture this snapshot in time for anyone who’s been through this. My hope is that someone somewhere will be helped by something I say. That they may laugh, or relate to the pain, or at least feel like they’re not alone in their annihilation. Someone else gets it. Sometimes, that’s enough to help. Because of my beliefs, you may find my approach refreshing, or you may find it off-putting and hypocritical. Either way you roll, welcome to my weird little world. Voyeur.

And in case you were wondering why this site sounds like the title of an episode of the Dukes of Hazard, it’s because anonymity reigns supreme here. Therefore, I shall henceforth be referred to as ‘Wife’. My soon to be ex! is ‘Honey’. And I think you can gather that his mistress fiance wife! is ‘HomeWrecker’. Enjoy.

5 thoughts on “What this blog ISN’T.

    • You know how everyone refers to the passage of time for dogs as ‘dog years’? Where each year of a dog’s life is equivalent to, like, 7 human years? Well there’s the same thing for moms, but in reverse.

      ‘Oh, the text you sent me last week? Sorry, yah, I’ve been meaning to reply to that. What’s that? You sent it in September of last year? Ummmm…’

      Sorry it took me, like, 3 mom years to reply to your comment. Thanks so much for your words of support!

      Like

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