Here I am

well, here I am - in unmotherhood land - a land you enter against your will after having given your all to try and create a picture happy home filled with children, love, and laughter. There was supposed to be a loving caring husband in the picture as well. Oh, how I believed that dream and tried to make it come true! I kept believing even while reality and truth was so far away from my illusions - even as my 'dear' husband ridiculed and criticized, badmouthing me incessantly in front of the children, hoping against hope that I could somehow find the magic formula to make it all "right",  me not opposing him, believing all the while that the less I stirred up the anger and shouting, the better.

But it wasn't meant to be - I finally fully and truly understood that this was a horribly abusive marriage that couldn't work, that one cannot make it work all alone if the other one sabotages all her efforts, so I finally and reluctantly threw in the towel and filed for divorce.

I didn't know that a few years later I would be emotionally divorcing my adult children as well, those children who had suckled at my breast while at the same time ingesting husband's poison against me. I've finally decided that it is not in my (or theirs!) best interests to allow them to berate me as their father did; I've finally decided that my friends were right, that I should find ways to make their visits "home" less pleasant, if not curb them completely.

I didn't intend to start my own blog. I was sure there must be many others out there suffering similarly (that's what the statistics seem to say) and there must be other blogs - but I couldn't find anyone out there in cyberspace to commiserate with. Lots of infertility blogs - some end happily with the long awaited baby and others not.

Well, I gave birth to my own long awaited baby by being granted a divorce, but I'm still struggling; my suffering is far from being over; it will probably be life-long. Divorcing children is quite different - one can never hope to reach real closure on that one, nor would I want to. Even as I decide to reduce my contact with them still more, to stop trying to reach out to them against their wishes, my heart bleeds.