It’s been a while since I truly felt like myself. After the mess that was my marriage and all the chaos following it went down, I just sort of clammed up and went into hiding. But lately I have been rediscovering who I am.

Before the marriage, before the heartache and anger, I was a happy person. I loved music. I had an active social life. I painted and sculpted. I was at peace. But once I became a “Mrs.” instead of a “Ms.” all that changed. I stopped making friends, and eventually I even stopped seeing the ones I already had. I never went out to hear the music I love, and painting became “something I used to do.”

I’m not really sure why all this happened. It certainly wasn’t a conscious decision. The new me just slowly overtook the old me, and the new me was so intent on being part of a “we” that she forgot to be anything at all. I was a mimic. I did what he wanted, when he wanted, and with whomever he wanted. The sad part is that he never asked for those things – I just willing lay down and let his world consume mine.

Eventually, the real me that was buried deep down inside started screaming and yelling that she wanted to be let out. She missed music; she missed art! She wanted to feel a paint brush in her hands again. She wanted to hear the laughter of an old friend. She missed being alive. Of course, this didn’t sit well with the “Mr.” He was used to the woman I had become. Nevermind the fact that the woman he fell in love with, the woman he wanted to marry, was the old me – he liked what he had just that moment. And he wasn’t willing to give her up.

And that was when the trouble began.

The war between myselves and him waged all day, every day. Sometimes it was something small like what CD to listen to; other times it was something earth-shattering like which home to buy or how many children “we” wanted. But regardless, it was never-ending.

So I left.

It may not have been the right decision. Hell, it may not have even been a good decision. But I made it because it was better than living in a war zone.

And here I am now.

It’s been well over a year since I walked out that door. There have been many tears, many lies, many regrets. I have done everything short of the Hokey-Pokey trying to make peace with my own inner demons. But, strangely enough, it never occurred to me until just yesterday to go back. Go back to where I went wrong – start over. Go back to listening to the music I love. Go back to visiting friends and talking all night about life and love and loss and laughter. Go back to painting and dreaming and creating. 

And that is just what I did.

I have spent the last two days painting. I haven’t slept nearly as much as I should have. I am hungry beyond words. I am covered in paint from head to toe. My house is a wreck, and my back is killing me. I have a headache from too much concentration and squinting. My bank account is depleted from spending so much on brushes and paints. I haven’t created any masterpieces – and to be honest, I haven’t even finished anything yet.

But I could not be happier.

Welcome home, me – you sure have been missed. I hope you stick around this time. It’s just not the same around here without you.