Divorce Loss Episode 5: My House

Tara/ May 28, 2020/ DIVORCE LOSS 5 - THE HOUSE

I “lost” the house in the divorce. Actually, I didn’t lose it – I gave it away. Shit, the concessions I made. I wonder if I’ll be able to articulate how important that house was to me; I guess you would have to be inside my head to know how much I obsessed over the only house I ever owned. And aside from my sorority house, it was the only real house I ever called mine.

The house was one of those things that kept me married for a long time. My ex and I loved that house equally. I knew he would never leave the marriage and he would never, ever leave that house. Choosing to leave the marriage, would mean leaving the house too. That house is the place where I brought my three babies home from the hospital. As cliche as it sounds, there’s just something about that. I can’t count the number of hours I spent decorating and cleaning my babies’ castle. Most nights, I fell asleep dreaming of my next painting or remodeling project. I had big plans for that little, Old Town bungalow. And those projects often distracted me from the real issues in my life and in my marriage. It was the perfect place to express the positive energy I had bubbling up inside of me – the positive energy that was so often squashed during my daily existence. Most of the projects I had for the house didn’t need his approval; they didn’t need his energy at all. They were mine to plan, execute and pay for. I needed a place to be creative and to put my crafty talents to use. And more importantly, I needed to be in control of those creative efforts. The house gave me that outlet.

The decision to leave a marriage is so much more emotionally complex than I originally realized. Each step presents a new hurdle and a new sacrifice. For me, the house was a big one. That hurdle took months of painstakingly rewiring my obsessive brain in order to remove myself, physically and emotionally, from the place where I had spent more years of my life than anywhere else. I knew I had to detach myself from the comfort, from the joy and from the colorful whimsy I had created and that brought me happiness for 17 years. I started to tell myself “it’s just wood and paint and tile.” I tried to convince myself that I could recreate it for the kids in a new space. After all, it was created just for them all along. I was glad to know the kids would have the comforts of their childhood home while they were with their dad; but knowing I wouldn’t be there to tuck them into their beds covered with handmade blankets and pillows that I had spent hours creating, was almost unbearable. I was walking away from the memories that those walls held – and from the kitchen island where we built gingerbread houses and rolled pizza dough. I couldn’t take with me the kids’ measurements on the door trim or the worn wood floors – visible signs of nearly two decades of birthdays in that house, and of tiny feet running circles around the dining room table. But, I still had to go.

As strong as my attachment was to the house, my need for peace was stronger. And so it was….added to a long list of sacrifices I would have to make to escape the negativity I was living under. All of those years of bottled-up oppression suddenly came to a head and created an overwhelming urgency to pack up my essentials and run like hell. I dreamed of grabbing my babies and never turning back – but that wasn’t to be. I had to go ahead alone and get our new life off the ground. I dreamed of a new house. And of freedom. I made a list of the things I wanted in my new home: another old bungalow in the same neighborhood, four bedrooms, hardwood floors, joy, vulnerability and of course, peace. I put the list under my mattress to ensure the manifestation, just for good measure. And goddammit if it didn’t work. My new house is adorable, and joyful, and peaceful.

It was hard to leave the house, but it would have been harder to stay – this I knew for sure. As much as I was certain I needed to leave my marriage, the guilt was still overwhelming – but I thought it would have felt even worse to leave my ex and also make him leave his home. Walking away from the house felt like the best thing to do – at the time. I also thought that if I left the house to him, he would somehow forgive me sooner for leaving the marriage. I thought he would treat me better after the divorce if I graciously handed over our precious home to him like some sort of peace offering. How selfish of me to think I could pay him off in that way – when his sadness and anger really had no price. And no, I haven’t been treated “better” or even “decent” for giving him the house. As a matter of fact, the threat of selling the house has been used to torture and control me on many occasions. So much for a peace offering.

I digress.

Yeah, I left the house to him. And I regret that decision more often than not, but here’s the deal – I also left the house to my kids. And it makes me happy to know that throughout the hardest years of their lives, they still had the comforts of the only home they had ever known. Now my kids have two comfortable and beautiful houses that they can call home. And I can live with that.