When my kids were little, I used to tell them that the two most important lessons I could teach them were, 1) how to go to sleep on their own, and 2) that life isn’t fair. Here, in the 6th month of my marital separation, I am finding those two lessons incredibly vital.

My husband and I only overlapped in our bed for about 5 or 6 hours a night, due to our dissonant schedules. So, for the past 25 years, falling asleep has been a time of sadness and loneliness. To combat it, I will turn one of my extra pillows long-wise, so at least I can hug it while I fall asleep. 

Even though I believe that somehow, someday, karma will come around to those who’ve wronged me, that knowledge doesn’t ease the sting of the injustice of being on the inequitable distribution side of the table. Sure as shit, life isn’t fair. But, if I can keep my head held high and keep on walking through the drama, the muck, the unfairness, I know that on the opposite side there is–at the very least–growth and acceptance.

I have a safe and quiet place to live. My girls are happy. I am happy. We all can breathe. I can write. I can work. I can set up my massage table and offer healing. It will be ok.

When it feels like life’s tidal waves are crashing against me, I can remember: I am not the boat at the mercy of the current. I am the ocean. I can ebb and flow; withdraw or swell. I am mighty and powerful and peaceful. And tomorrow, after the storms pass, I may be an entirely different environment than I am today. But I will still be here. I will still be here. 

And the ones that can know you so well are the ones that can swallow you whole. I have a good and I have an evil, I thought the ocean, the ocean thought nothing. You are the welcoming back from the ocean. “The Ocean” by Dar Williams.

(Blog post title and lyrics used without permission from Dar, but I think she’d say it’s ok.)