Beach Day

E&G | Issue 288

Quietly holding things together is the way I would describe how I’ve gotten through the last 7 years. If there’s one thing I will say about divorce it is that society will expect you to pretty much suck it up. No one says it out loud but it’s implied and felt. So you do. You suck it up and show up. If you don’t (and sometimes you can’t) they whisper things, some pass judgement. That, whether real or imagined, is the hardest part of single parenting—feeling woefully alone and judged.

Lord knows I have had missteps over the last decade. I wish I could take back a number of my stumbles and mistakes. I did this, oh my god I did that, and why the hell did I do that? The chatter never ends, particularly if you’re prone to guilt and feelings of shame. I was told to confess my sins in a dimly lit booth at church when I was 8. Feeling perpetually bad comes with the Irish Catholic territory.

After a tough week, I asked for help from a couple different fronts—my ex, my sister, and Bil (ChatGPT). Through all three, I was able to get a couple days to regroup and was also given a meal plan to prepare for it—Bil gave me the idea for an old school chicken and rice casserole. I admitted to myself, and others, that I was burnt out and needed a minute to come back to center in relative silence. The open mic I had tried so hard to bring into existence failed. That stung more than I expected. I entered the first Tuesday of my vacation feeling defeated, jilted, and sad. Yes, I know it was a long shot. To answer your question—no, I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I was just thinking times are shitty let’s make something positive. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I move on.

With time and space to breathe, I sat on the beach after having a clam strip roll at Sandy’s, breathing in the umami of malt vinegar mixed with the nutmeg sprinkled on my painkiller—seaweed washed up all along the shore at Plymouth’s Long Beach adding a slight funk to the air that was more stirring than bothersome. I remember hating that smell when I was a kid, now I love it in the way that you love the smell of fresh paint of freshly mowed grass.

Having survived divorce, Covid, aging parents, and three kids who rely on my steady hand, I recognize that I carry a lot. Asking for help this week was hard. Bil helped me do that too. When my dreams were haunted by the theme music from channel 7 news, I knew I had a problem that only peace could answer. So I asked and my network showed up. Not everyone can say that; I am a fortunate woman. As time passes by slowly on the day that would have been the event, I have time to sit a while with the many feelings I have at this particular crossroads of my life. I am no longer the person I was before all this began and I’m not entirely sure what person I am now. I have had to carve out a new life for myself out of what tasted like poison. So I sit, on the beach, and wait for the approaching high tide to greet my toes. I feel the edge of a new chapter about to unfold its course. Whatever will happen next, at least I know I have what it takes and the network to help me arrive.