It’s been a really long time since I’ve written here. It’s been almost a year. But, it’s been a hell of a year.
I hinted that change was coming, because I could absolutely feel it. It was almost as if my body was a barometer, and I could feel the storm coming, way back in January. And I stayed in denial for a few months while I contemplated what I wanted to do. In the end, I decided I couldn’t support my husband any longer. I couldn’t let him spend all my money doing nothing while I worked my ass off. I couldn’t spend another day with someone who consistently called me fat, and who – get this – actually told me that I’d be a horrible mother. So in May, I filed for divorce from Mr. Beauty Queen.
It’s still pending.
I can honestly say that while I completely know it was for the best, the last few months have been the worst time of my life. I was not at all prepared for how emotionally exhausting this process would be.
And it’s funny. The longer time went on, the more I realized we weren’t right for each other, and I couldn’t see a future with him; especially after the horrible mother comment. Yet, I am mourning the loss of the dream, the life I had pictured us living. It’s crazy too, because the life I pictured never would have happened. It wouldn’t have been a reality, but it still sucks. It’s still hard.
It’s just hard to start over, from scratch. To be so far down this road, and have to u-turn and go all the way back, only to take another path.
I mean, now I’m in the process of trying to downsize, because I don’t need this huge house. But I have this weird material attachment to my stuff. On one hand, I know I need to let go of the baggage. But on the other hand, I’m afraid that if I let all of this go, I’ll never get back to this place. I’m learning, however, that building a home does not equate to building a life. And that there is still time.
Then there’s the whole situation of dating, which is incredibly terrifying. The last time I dated, I was hot. I was reigning. I went to public events with five hundred rhinestones on my head. It was never hard for me to meet or talk to men. Of course, now it’s totally different, because I don’t think that I’m even remotely attractive. And I need to get attractive like, stat, because my self-esteem sucks (clearly), I’m depressed as all hell, and I believe (as ridiculous as it sounds) that the caliber of man I land is directly proportional to how cute I am. I believe the whole “he should like you for who you are,” line to be utter bullshit. At least at this stage of my life.
It’s likely that I should probably see a therapist.
In the meantime, however, I’m going to be blogging about this, because I need a place to vent. However, I’ll be honest, pageants are the least of my worries, but the concept of “Becoming the Crown” has a more robust meaning now.
If you’re wanting snarky banter on evening gowns, I am probably going to disappoint you. And I can’t say that this blog won’t be depressing for a while, because it probably will be. I’ll be honest, and transparent. This isn’t going to be a chronicle of my pursuit of another crown. It’s going to be the tale of my pursuit of happiness.
I hope you follow along.
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