The struggles of divorce. Long after the papers are signed, it continues. It’s not a topic I write freely about. I talk freely to family and friends. Ask them. They have gotten earfuls. They sit with patience as I express my fears and concerns. They sit with understanding as I convey my frustrations and disappointments. They sit with tolerance as I release a string of bullsh*ts and motherf***kers. I mean, even my parents have managed to overlook the swearing in these moments…these are the same people who would give me discerning looks from the stands if they heard me say anything remotely colorful on the court. Lately though, I find myself wanting to write instead of talk. The stresses and challenges come in waves and right now, it’s a title wave. I would like to write…but I am caught. When I decided to start writing, I wanted to be honest. I wanted to reveal an authentic self, accurately capture the ups and downs of experiences good and bad. Writing provides an opportunity to organize my thoughts. It helps put things in perspective, make sense out of the absolute chaos that sometimes surrounds me. Writing also helps me help others. Because I am not the only one going through this.  If my words can provide support and care for someone going through the similar experiences – I want that too.

But I am caught. The words that I write…they are here to stay.  I can talk all I want. A sometimes-spirited conversation between me and someone else. Behind closed doors. In the privacy of my own space. Never in front of spectators. Never in front of Amichai. But writing…one day he will read my words.

I want Amichai to know me. There are many disturbing truths you must face when deciding it is time to leave a marriage. It is scary and unsettling to face the realities you just want someone – anyone – to take away. But the most frightening truth I had to face of all – a truth that I so desperately did not want to accept as real – was that Amichai did not know me. He did not know the me that was completely content and happy. He only knew someone who could not smile fully and freely. He did not know the me who was quiet but confident. He only knew someone whose voice was quickly diminishing. He did not know the me who was bitingly sarcastic. He only knew someone who found it hard to laugh with any conviction. He did not know the me that was secure and settled. He only knew someone who was just barely hanging on. He only knew a shadow; at best he would catch glimpses of the girl I used to be. I was sad and angry and nauseated by this truth. I was sad and angry and nauseated at myself. Where did I go? How could I let this happen? How could Amichai go through his life without knowing me? And even more – what if I went through my life without knowing Amichai?  I have a habit of beating myself up in my darkest moments. I know. But out of these moments usually comes resolve: He deserves better. He deserves the best. He deserves all of me. It was time to leave.

So we did.

More than anything, I was relieved. Relieved that I could start living again. Relieved that that there would be peace in our lives. Relieved that I could be me and he could be he. Amichai and I were now free to experience the best versions of ourselves. And we have. We know each other. Amichai knows what face I will make when he asks if he has to brush his teeth… how I glance over at him, eyebrows furrowed, a small amused but not that amused smirk – Are you serious? He thinks this is terribly funny and in return, I know what he will say next – make the face again Mommy. I’ll do it again and he will laugh. I know his laugh…head thrown back, an uncontrollable giggle that turns into a high-pitched shriek, ending with a satisfied sigh. There are thousands of moments we share – and every moment is an opportunity to learn more about who we are. My greatest hope is that Amichai and I will always strive towards understanding each other, toward knowing each other.

Still…I am caught. I hesitate to write. I want to write authentically. I want to be a genuine voice that shares, empathizes, and identifies and I want Amichai to know that voice. But I also want to be a shield. I want to protect Amichai. Not from the truth. He knows the truth – he’s known since he’s two. It was a truth I repeated to him over and over after we left so he would have a narrative to rely on, one that made sense: Some Mommies and Daddies live together, and some Mommies and Daddies decide its best to live a part. We decided it was best to live a part. This is ok. This is the best decision for us. You have two parents that care for you and love you very much. He’s lived this truth now for five years now. And as he gets older, more of that truth is revealed – not because I tell him (I always leave the door open to questions), but because his is simply growing up and aware. He sees, he feels, he internalizes. He understands more about me, more about his father, more about the structure of his family life. He understands and can recognize diverging approaches and perspectives, formulating his own thoughts that are appropriate for him. It is this process that I must protect.

A child of divorce faces a tall order– even in the best of situations. To feel a constant push and pull. To feel a split sense of loyalty and love. To feel a division in almost every aspect of your life. To feel a routine shift and shuffle between houses. Not easy. I can say with confidence that the alternative of staying would have yielded far worse consequences – that I do not hesitate to write. But still not easy. Amichai needs to go through his own processes and draw his own conclusions, something he has already started. At seven years old, I stand in awe of his perception and understanding. I will not interfere with that.  And when I think about it in this light, this is actually my authentic self  – assessing a hard situation, understanding the sensitivities involved, the risks at stake and taking what ever action I need to protect, help, and support the boy I love more than words.

This is what I want him to know.

The thing is – I’m pretty calm right now. I was even relatively calm when I came back from the pharmacy the other day and saw that Gabe had rigged up some ropes on the porch. He and Yosef decided it was a good idea to repel down the porch and then climb back up the wall. Right… As more or less experienced climbers, I went with it although I suggested that maybe they should double check the hooks they were using – they looked like they needed some reinforcement. I also did not succumb to any peer pressure and flat out refused to try. I am daring but not stupid. They repelled down safely and climbed back up, although Gabe was just a bit winded when he finally made it back over the porch railing. When I say a bit, I mean a lot.

I think I’m calm because I do not feel alone. Indeed, part of that is because Gabe and Yosef have joined forces with me and Amichai. But I have felt alone before. I felt so very alone for so many years in my first marriage. It is an inexplicable and intensely unfair experience to feel alone when you are living with a person whom you are meant to share a life. I am not a dramatic person. I recognize that there are tragic and incomprehensible sorrows that people encounter in this world. As I write this, I know there are thousands suffering and I hope I am not minimizing their pain – but being stuck in a difficult, volatile marriage is an experience that will rip apart the grounds on which you stand. It will leave you feeling utterly and totally alone.

It wasn’t about physically being isolated from people that made me feel alone. I went on with my life and life went on around me. I went to work, I took care of Amichai, I talked to my family, I talked to my friends. I had contact with people every day. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that over the course of time, I fell further and further away from me. My home life was cold, unstable, and unforgiving. I knew everything about it was wrong. There were very few moments I ever felt at home in my home. I knew the things that were said to me, the interactions that took place, the behavior displayed – none of it was okay. None of it was acceptable. I knew that I would never allow a family member or friend to stay in such a relationship. I knew I would do everything in my power to physically remove them from that situation. But here I was, staying. Stuck. Tolerating the intolerable. The distance between the person I knew myself to be and the person that was staring me back in the mirror became greater and greater. I was trapped in my mind, an endless stream of distressing thoughts. Should I leave? Leaving is quitting. I can’t quit.  Is staying quitting? Just make a decision. I can’t. The foundations of my own confidence and strength were crumbling beneath me until ultimately – I felt isolated from myself.

I knew who I was, or at least who I had been – I just had no idea how to get back to her.  It was like a wall had been imposed around me. The shadow of myself was stuck on the inside, and me – the person I trusted and believed in, the person I so desperately wanted Amichai to know – she was on the outside. It was too tall to climb over; it was too strong to push down. But here’s the thing – there is a distinction between feeling isolated and being so. Because the truth was, I was never alone. On the other side of that wall where I stood trying to figure out a way to save the shadow trapped on the inside, there stood the people who knew me best, who loved me the most. And they had enough. They began to punch and kick and knock down the wall, bashing it in– creating a path back to me.

I have been stubborn in my life, many times refusing help – I am grateful this was not one those moments. I accepted their help. I accepted their willingness to ease the weight from my shoulders. I accepted their desire to catch a falling friend. The people around me, they cared deeply and profoundly. Our experiences were one and the same – watching your daughter, sister, your ride or die teammate – watching her struggle – it’s the same pain, just a different angle. But they are the people who believed in me. They believed in the power I wielded, and they reminded me of that. They believed that nothing was lost, nothing was destroyed. When I accepted everything that they had to offer and encourage – my confidence returned, my strength returned – I returned. I was never alone

A friend posted on Facebook – Every time you hear the words “unprecedented times,” take a drink. Cheers. These are unprecedented times (cheers again), maybe even dark times. But the optimist in me searches for something beyond the statistics, plummeting market, social distancing and enforced quarantine. We might feel alone, we might feel isolated – but look around. The days we are facing – we are facing them together. We can vent and shout and cry out in one voice because we are experiencing the same thing. We can also encourage and motivate and push each other forward because we understand the shared challenges. It is a rare moment of unity. There people on the other side of that wall. We are not alone. We are not isolated.

Go outside (please not more than 100 meters though). Go to your porch. Go to your back yard or front lawn and see that there are others out there too. Extend a hand…well, don’t do that – but share an understanding grin.

We are all right here.