The Day I Let Go Of Resentment
By: Coffee Loving Kiwi
Tags: Resentment, Divorce, Forgiveness, Marriage, Grief And Loss

I married you eleven years ago today. You, in all of your stubborn, loyal, loving, inflexible, supportive, critical, faithful, angry, honest, defensive, kind, overbearing, committed, affectionate, blaming, impossible ways. I had faith that love trumps all and I had not known you to give up on anything, ever. We promised it was for life and I meant it. Eleven years ago I would have collapsed in disbelief if, after what we had already faced together, I had known you had it in you to give up on us.

I still remember the day I let go of resentment towards you, I was in the supermarket buying peanut butter. I ran into Hayley and she asked how I was, I looked at her and said, “Full of resentment, actually. How about you?” So she asked if I wanted to get rid of it then and there and I could not think of a single reason why I wouldn’t do that. That was the day Hayley and I let go of resentment together, right there on the New World stairs. Zero Fucks Given. It’s basically been that way ever since but I doubt you ever noticed.

I wonder how many times you have thought about the Facey post you published about our marriage a few years back, and if it is anywhere near the number of times that I have thought about it. You know the one I mean - it resulted in numerous phone calls, messages and screen shots from our nearest and dearest, checking in on the one day I had hoped would pass in quiet obscurity. Thanks for that. I left my phone ringing and headed straight for the ocean, right around the time that Google Photos notified me of the wedding day highlights it had kindly montaged together in special commemoration. Fuck you, Google.

Man was I grateful for the ocean that day. Sitting out the back on the new surfboard I had been so proud of finding, then suddenly being robbed of the strength to use it. I just couldn’t get your words out of my head:

“Who knows, maybe if we’re both single in a year or two we might give it another go”.

Classic you. No notion of your betrayal.

None.

I just sat there on my board, watching yet more tears fall into the ocean, pierced by the cold realisation that you knew nothing of what it had cost me to fight for our marriage alone, you refusing to acknowledge your anger. Your resentment. Your blame. Realising -after those words fell so casually out of your mouth- just how much you were yet to face, and that somewhere along the way I had grown stronger than you.

God, if you had any idea of the strength I have found since you turned your back on everything we ever fought for. Of the sheer guts it takes to stay right where you are, living in the house that was full of you, working in the hospital that echoed you, caring for the dogs that needed you, pursuing the dreams that were missing you, facing the family and friends too hesitant to ask about you. I’ve fucking done it though and I could not be more proud of that. Of the courage it took to face our past, and my future and come through the other side wholehearted. Of the resolve it took to not give up on the life we had started, to not lose hope for peace, to not lose faith in a God who had my back.

Yep, this day is carved in memory for me, the day of our wedding. As are the days that preceded our divorce. The coffee that went cold after I read your email. The stillness of a half-renovated house while we talked over Skype. The choking silence that amplified your careless words, while somehow robbing me of mine. Your signatures on the affidavits I had to jump through hoops to arrange, while you swore at me over the phone. The apocalyptic heat flooding our bedroom as I answered the phone on the day of your Facebook post, again. I remember that day because I couldn’t surf, and I couldn’t paddle in. I just sat out the back, wondering if the aftermath of divorce ever actually ends.

I wondered if anyone else could ever find the reserves you had to fuel the next-level resentment you were clinging to, and what your peanut butter moment would be. But then you made me laugh by reporting these posts as an act of domestic violence against you and I realised you haven’t had yours yet, which must be so exhausting. I remembered our last conversation together, your laughter in the driveway as I told you about some dumb shit the neighbour’s kid had done. I remembered the way your face dropped as you got in the car and I realised you had no intention of staying in each other’s lives anymore. I remembered the last time we slept together, the last time we kissed, I remembered the last time we ever apologised to each other, and our countless promises to do better.

As fun as it is to wave the “thanks for makin’ me a fighter” flag around, I just couldn’t take myself seriously if I attempted that with you. Not when we both know that I have always been one, and it was certainly not you who made me that way. I came into this world prepared for battle and thank God for it or I would have been absorbed into your dry, humourless family without a fight. Shit, how many times did you complain about how seriously they take themselves, while simultaneously demanding it of me. On this day eleven years ago, you stood up and announced to all of our people that there was no shortage of fire and passion when I was around. On this day here and now I am proud to announce that, despite your best efforts to suffocate it, that will always be the case. Here’s hoping replacement wifey has some fire in her soul too.