A series of seemingly small but not small at all stories from our amicable separation
Last night, after engaging in the roughly choreographed tag-team effort of preparing dinner alongside Damon in our tired but terrific kitchen, I had a brief but beautiful moment of joy and clarity. It wasn’t a big deal, but took so much respect, effort, time and tenderness to arrive at this moment I thought I would share.
Let me set the stage briefly.
If I Love you (and I do genuinely Love most people. I am so blessed to see magic in, and vehemently cherish a vast tribe of new friends and old) there is a pretty good chance I call you baby. Or baby cakes. Or sweetheart. Or darling… Baby is far and away the most likely though and it’s how I address all the kids, my ex-husband and Damon (my fiancé for those of you who have not heard from me in a while).
The result of my peppering this term of endearment across everyone in ear shot can be confusing, but generally Dee-lightful.
During busy family outings, or gatherings at the “big house”, I can be fumbling around and need a hand or a question answered so I will pipe up from wherever I am to bellow:
And a barrage of “What? Yup? Yes? Huh? ‘Sup?” and these and other varied responses will echo from various directions into ear shot.
Last night my beloved BFF and former husband Phteven was losing to me at cribbage while sitting across from me next to his mother at the kitchen table. Meanwhile, my future husband was characteristically busying himself in the kitchen cooking and cleaning, I checked my phone and realised I had an important question for one of them.
“Baby?” I exclaimed, and they both responded simultaneously and in stereo
with half their attention on the other things they were engaged in.
I belly laughed out loud, and totally forgot my question. Damon laughed at me and said “Oh, you love it…” while Steve also laughed and rolled his eyes and said: “Force of habit” and we carried on with our genuinely glorious evening.
DO NOT for a moment think this comfort and ease is the norm or was handed to any of us. It has been hard fought and needed consistent communication, a lot of humble pie, compromise, conflict, tears, laughter, tantrums… It has never been simple and my heart (and Steve’s) have been irreparably damaged by the realisation that we were both better off as friends. When we said forever it was what we meant. Things changed. We built some stuff and we broke some stuff and our journey has been harrowing and horrific at times.
This series is really just personal challenge for me to get back into writing regularly after a long and much needed sabbatical.
This series will just be a few stories from my heart and head to your eyes and destined to settle wherever they land once you’ve absorbed them.
I will not rant or rave or swear or complain about my situation or the sometimes crippling journey we have all been on. This is a series I promised several strangers I would pen as I tell so many people how on balance our divorce has been incredibly… Loving, brave, empowered and empowering.
This is not the norm of Western society, and we all carry scars. I would like to place the gauntlet down and commit to a true and uplifting series of stories about mine or other people’s separations at least once a month. Happy to do much more if there’s an appetite for it.
In the meantime please consider following the Instagramming Page heartache and Cheesecake or getting in touch as myself and a few of my fabulous friends are working behind the scenes to try to cobble together a new social enterprise to empower women through change. We have called the movement Heartache and Cheesecake because hurt and comfort food are a part of grief and healing. You are very welcome to reach out and I apologise in advance if I am inconsistent in my response and activity, however, it is an exciting and inspiring concept that will evolve and I’d love to have you join the journey.
Thanks for reading.