How Jawbreaker has not become the soundtrack to my summer

When I found out about my baby's father cheating I was so shielded by anger that for a day I was able to float through the moments of kicking him out and packing up his things without to much debilitating pain. I simply felt I was watching the events play out from above, simply watching my emotions flare and subside, not really feeling just watching.

Day 2 began the tears. I cried, I screamed, I yelled. I made myself sick for days only to remind myself I needed to eat and try and stay calm for Max. I even tried making myself feel like I was being a bad mom by allowing such negative emotions run through my body while my little baby slept inside of me, in hopes, of course, that I'd snap out of it. The self-imposed mommy guilt got me nowhere and I quickly saw there was no 'snapping' out of this one.

Then there was the fear of falling apart. The fear of becoming a wreck, of laying on the floor for days with the lights dimmed, of Jawbreaker becoming the soundtrack of my upcoming months and years. So I kept the blinds open and listened to 30 Foot Fall.

And the anger. The never ending questions. The questions that will never have an answer. I realized that those questions would only grow with time if I continued to rely upon their empty answers for a relief. I realized there would be no quick relief and accepting that brought me peace.

I found this reserve of quiet strength I was able to tap into. I felt a weight released. This ball of anxiety fell from my chest. I felt pain in my heart, but I felt clarity everywhere else. I was angry and sad and extremely hurt, but I was able to see, like never before, that none of the pain came from missing him. Even while crying in the shower many a nights I knew I was crying for me and Max not crying because the man of my dreams had cheated on me. I was crying because the reality of my nuclear family was exposed.

I realized the fear of the apartment seeming empty and the bed seeming cold, the fear of creeping loneliness from falling asleep in a bed with to much room was just that, a fear. I found I could breath a little deeper at home without him there frantically scraping his bowl on the porch. I found that with my ever growing belly that extra room in the bed was much needed.

After day 3 I had this creeping feeling that I liked being alone. This is not how its supposed to work.

The anxiety that fell from this chaotic relationship, left me with peace and a drive to create. I picked up the guitar again after 6 months. I began painting again. I began to make my home my home. The safe space for me and my upcoming room-mate, my daughter Max. A place of refuge for her and me. And I was happy. A bit shaken up but happy. This is not how I'm supposed to be feeling, right?

I was taught to run from pain. Run from break-ups. Don't mention his name, don't act hurt, you never cared anyway, right? Definitely don't let the good memories in, those mean torture. Don't miss him, cause that means death. And don't let what he did to you sink in, shake it off, push it out of your head. Move on quickly or you'll look pathetic.

Funny thing is, although I thought that was the 'right way' to heal from break ups or pain that was also what left me drunkenly on the floor sobbing to Patsy Cline's 'Walking After Midnight' night after night. Or left me sitting in train yard after train yard, trying to get out of whatever state and mental state I was in.

So I changed things up a bit this time. When I felt sad I cried. And man, did I cry hard. I would sob so hard I had to catch my breath. If a memory would creep into my head, I wouldn't run from it in terror, I'd let it play out and after the memory died I would find myself still standing in the same spot, with some dignity and even a little bit of hope.

So after month 1 I'm finding that sadness doesn't equal death. That bad days don't mean bad weeks. That weakness isn't feeling. And that being alone isn't necessarily lonely. I'm finding that I'm quite proud of being single and pregnant and that I'm able to look a little longer into peoples eyes. I found that having my mom next to me during my birthing class wasn't depressing but quite fun and that I couldn't imagine this going any other way. I'm finding that I'll probably not end up a bitter spinster. And that I'm even still very much in love. An unshakable love for my daughter that makes almost nothing in my life seem pathetic. A love that makes every night exciting because I'm one day closer to meeting her. A love that makes me enjoy the sight of my ever-growing belly and ankles. A  love that left me not feeling insecure after this break-up but grateful for the gift he gave me and Max of leaving us in peace.