Never in my wildest imagination did I think I’d be taking family photos without a husband, my children’s father.
The 4 — and then 6… and then 7 — of us looked so good in photos together, we fooled even ourselves. Until one day I was brave enough to stare our marriage’s reality in the face and ask for help. We had 5 kids at the time and had just celebrated 6 years of marriage. The walls of our entire life crashed, the walls built with facades and fantasies I had construed to survive, because silently dying inside felt more livable than looking at the truth and what would come next.
I wasn’t ever going to be a divorcee. ‘Divorce is for weak people who don’t understand the sacredness of the vow.’ I sincerely believed this to my core. I wasn’t about to tell that to a divorcee’s face, but anytime I heard of another friend’s marriage ending, I pitifully shook my head, disappointed for their lack of strength to just make it work.
Ignorance. It is such bliss, isn’t it?
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