I stood there with a storm of dust surrounding the room; breathing like Darth Vader in a low-budget version of Divorce Wars. The mask, slipping off my face from sweat, had sugar-like grit obstructing my view. The contraption didn’t hold much sweetness, only extra fine sand that tasted of grit.
I felt alone to figure out how my daughter and I would remain in our home after my husband wanted out of the life we created together. Catching spare moments to upgrade as a rental, I put off thoughts of the eventual re-entry upon my daughter’s return from “Daddy time.”
Dreading the decompressing child I’d have to recalibrate upon her arrival home, I felt lopsided by the burden. Daddy time was fun, while Mommy time was stability. Shaking off the dust that remained caked to my hair, looking more shockingly gray than resided, I said aloud to no one, “I can do this.”
Earlier, when I stood at the Home Depot tool rentals, I wanted to tell the cashier, “I’m sanding my concrete floors with this Diamond Grinder, but I’m really grinding away at my diamond-in-the-rough-life.” The cashier said, “sign here.”
I bought myself some time, patiently waiting for the dust to clear. Praying I’d see a sign of where to go next; secretly hoping God wouldn’t call on me to save the world, because all I wanted to do was save myself and my floors. I was on a quest to achieve both without stubbing my toe or cutting off a finger- Sucking my thumb in a corner seemed the more appropriate response.
Half-crazed to prove I could re-build my life and didn’t need a man to do it, my alpha male kicked in. The once, sweet smelling estrogen took backseat to the hard driven testosterone I needed at the moment. Could it possibly over-ride me this way forever? Would this male dominant version of myself get stuck and frozen in time? Would I be able to wash it off, like dirt, revealing my feminine? What if I could never balance the hard and soft edges of myself ever again?
This is what happens when the man you love leaves you- you’re left to fend for yourself, refurbish concrete floors, take out the trash and do your own plumbing. Ironically, there was a certain bittersweet liberation that presented itself. While my husband was straying from our marriage with his new prowess-muse, I was staying closer to home with my inner power-muse; claiming territory sacred, starting with my floors.
As always, Ignite your light and let it shine bright.
From My Heart to Yours,
Kris
