Embarrassed

Embarrassed.

That's the feeling I notice the most lately.

I continue to practice my daily quiet time.  Nine times out of ten I sit quietly in the early morning.  I wake one or both of my big kids up for school (depending on who is here or at their dad's) and then I take my usual spot for my quiet time.

I sit.  I breathe. I listen.  I pay attention. I notice.  I breathe.

This morning and the last few mornings I find my thoughts drifting to my divorce.  I am getting ready to move back to Texas in mid-June and I guess the preparation and packing is stirring up a lot of emotions.  And one of the feelings that just keeps lingering is the feeling of embarrassment.

I feel it in my chest and gut as I sit in my quiet time.  It feels like an uppercut sucker punch right to the pit of my stomach.  You know the kind that totally knocks the breath right out of you, leaves you gasping for air, and trying not to vomit all at the same time.

I want to run from the feeling, to escape and just be left alone.  I want that desperately, but I'm practicing mindfulness so instead I'm working on sitting with the difficult feeling. And work is certainly the proper word.

Hello Embarrassment.  So this is how I'm feeling today.

I'm embarrassed that I'm divorced.  I'm embarrassed that my marriage failed. I'm embarrassed that I trusted someone so completely and they let me down, and that maybe I let them down too.  I'm embarrassed that I couldn't keep things from falling apart.

I'm embarrassed that people talk and wonder about it.  I know most people are busy enough with their own lives that mine doesn't really matter a lot to them.  I know that. But I also know that when someone hears about a couple breaking up they wonder what happened (even if only for a couple of minutes of conversation).  Still they wonder, and I'm embarrassed that my marriage has been included in one of those conversations.

I'm embarrassed that my ex couldn't handle his mid-life crisis without blowing my family to bits.  I know this is my story.  I know he has his own story to tell.

I'm familiar with the saying, "In divorce there are three sides to every story. His side. Her side.  And the truth."  I know my story. I know I didn't want my marriage to end.  I know one person alone cannot make a marriage work.  If your partner wants to walk away there is not much you can do to stop them, and believe me I tried.

It's been two years since my ex moved out.  Two years.  And I'm still wading through all these stinking emotions.  Put your boots on people, there's a lot of shit to get through.  I'm embarrassed that I'm still knee deep in all this emotional shit.

So I'm sitting with embarrassment. It's uncomfortable. It's exhausting. It's nauseating. It's infuriating.

I breathe and way down beneath all the shit I also know there is a tiny seed of hope. I know this more than I feel it right now, but it's there.

I breathe and I know I'll be alright.  I know life goes on.  I know shit makes great fertilizer, but it also stinks to high heaven.

I breathe.  I breathe in embarrassment.  I breathe out hope.  I breathe in embarrassment.  I breathe out forgiveness.  I breathe in embarrassment.  I breathe out acceptance.

I breathe.

I'll let you know when the shit turns into flowers.