Eight Years

It's been eight years since I've been on my own. For those you who don't know, it's now been eight years since my former husband told me he was gay and in love with someone else.

Eight years. At the time, I thought I'd never recover. If you've ever been punched in the stomach hard enough to feel the wind knocked out of you, you'll know how I felt for months after he dropped the bombshell.

I felt like such a failure. It took quite awhile for me to truly understand and realize that I did nothing to cause it and it wasn't my doing. When most marriages dissolve, both parties usually share the blame. In this case, there was nothing I did that could have made this happen.

Small comfort.

But during these eight years, I've learned a great deal about myself and about the people surrounding me. Some of those people have become amazing friends. Some of these people I've become closer to than I ever thought I would. And some of these people showed their true colors and I realized they were never my friends at all.

I am so much stronger than I knew, and have been able to accomplish things I would not have been able to, if this hadn't have happened. I guess drastic things have to happen, sometimes, for the real "you" to come out. And I am thankful for that.