With my eldest now 5 years old, it’s been ages since I’ve truly celebrated New Year’s Eve—six long years of pregnancy, breastfeeding, and toddler taming. But this year was different. The kids left for their dad’s place at 4 PM, giving me a rare evening alone. I seized the moment to indulge in a long-overdue shower.
For the past two months, I had been in a tough mental space. Divorce mediation kicked off in October, followed by a marathon of trial preparations in November that left me drained—and not just emotionally. I now find myself among the many Americans grappling with credit card debt, thanks to those hefty legal fees. December brought a grueling three-day trial; did you know only 5% of divorces actually make it to that point? Yeah, I’m part of that statistic. I spent six days away from my kids before Christmas, sobbing through my first holiday as a divorcee. To top it off, there’s one more trial date looming in January, because let’s face it, financial experts don’t take kindly to parting with cash.
But it was New Year’s Eve—a night meant for shedding the burdens of the past and welcoming the promise of a fresh start. I’ve always cherished this holiday. It’s the one time of year when change feels not only acceptable but downright necessary. We gather, raise our glasses, and toast to new beginnings, even if we retreat to our old habits come January 1st. I adore it.
As I stood under the warm water, I reflected on my last meaningful New Year’s celebration. It was back in 2008, in Costa Rica. We had planned to party on the rooftop of our small hotel, but the local power grid fizzled out, leaving us in darkness. My husband and I sat alone, gazing at the stars while the sounds of nearby celebrations echoed in the distance. We had one apple to share, but I still remember the warmth of the bonfire we joined on the beach the night before, the thrill of running into the ocean with my skirt held high, and the laughter we shared.
That was a time of joy, and I hadn’t allowed myself to think about it in years. Anger and resentment had overshadowed any fond memories I might have had of my ex. But standing there, I felt a tide of nostalgia wash over me. “Holy cow, I used to love him,” I blurted out, startled by my own admission. In that instant, it felt as if every ounce of pent-up emotion in my body flowed down the drain with the water.
I loved him. I loved him. I loved him. Hidden beneath layers of anger, disappointment, and fury was a deep well of sadness, a testament to my broken heart. I realized I hadn’t allowed myself to truly grieve the end of our relationship.
Suddenly, I was hit with a wave of sorrow so powerful that I had to steady myself against the shower wall. I cried for two days, skipping showers, haunted by the ghost of my emotions.
Instead of going out to celebrate, I chose solitude. At midnight, I munched on a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich, washing it down with some bubbly I found stashed away from happier times. I binge-watched Netflix, released a white Chinese lantern I had saved from the Fourth of July, and embraced my solitude. It was a mix of pain and beauty, cathartic yet suffocating. I finally allowed the sadness in, and it was both a cleanse and a weight.
What surprised me next was the realization that I could forgive him. Along with the heartache came a sense of forgiveness for his flaws, his wrongs, and the hurtful words he flung my way. I even found it in my heart to forgive his parents for their actions that had left me feeling so isolated when I moved to be near them.
This wave of forgiveness didn’t stop there. Acknowledging his imperfections allowed me to forgive myself for my own mistakes and shortcomings. I realized how often I had failed to let go of the past, how I had repeatedly fought for my voice to be heard, and how I had hidden from vulnerability.
All of this came from allowing myself to confront the Painful Truth: I loved him, and he broke my heart. While much of what transpired was unacceptable, I understood that I would be okay. The past was gone, and today was a new beginning.
So, here’s to the possibilities! I raise my imaginary martini glass to change, embracing it like an old friend. I’m letting go of what no longer serves me, celebrating what I have now, and looking forward to a brighter tomorrow.
For anyone navigating similar waters, you can find support and resources on home insemination and pregnancy at Intracervical Insemination and Make a Mom. Additionally, for more information about IUI success rates, check out WebMD.
In summary, embracing change and allowing oneself to feel is a powerful process. Through tears and self-discovery, we learn to forgive and move forward, even when the journey feels painful.