It’s been 840 days since I became officially separated, and though I vaguely recall the early days of feeling like my life was crumbling before me, these days, I feel overwhelmingly grateful for the opportunity to start a new life at 40.
I liken my separation to very nearly avoiding rear-ending someone in traffic — I feel a sense of “WHOA, THAT WAS A CLOSE ONE” every damn day. It wasn’t that my marriage (from my POV) was bad. It was that it wasn’t a good fit for me, and although I’d have stayed for the rest of my life, I’d have missed all this happiness. It’s like getting glasses when you didn’t realize your vision was strained: things are so much clearer now.
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