I was speaking to my friend Viv the other day.

"I always thought separated people were sad," I said. (To be clear, I'm talking separated in middle age with a couple of kids in tow.)

"Sad how?" asked Viv, divorced for well over a decade.

"You know - living on the fringes of society sad. Trying hard to look happy for the sake of appearances sad. A bit lonely sad."

Viv looked at my in horror.

"All this time you've been thinking those things of me?"

"Well no, not you - you're amazing and extrovert and out in the world - I mean others. Normal people."

I was talking about me of course. Till recently, I'd never consciously pictured myself alone (though I'd never stopped hoping the courage to leave my marriage would come to me one day, probably when the kids were grown up) but there'd always been this sense that a separated life would feel  'less than'. Less textured than married family life, less comfortable (certainly financially), less joyful.

I was wrong.

I've been separated for nearly 18 months now and life has never felt so wonderful. I am free, and the relief and amazement at this fact sizzles inside me every day. I am back to being my true self, not a watered down version. I have no idea what my future looks like and I'm fairly strapped for cash but these facts don't weigh on me - my mind is clear, my heart is open and I have an unquenchable belief that my future will figure itself out.

But to get here, I had to live through a year of searing pain. There were moments when I thought the pain would destroy me. There were moments when I wanted to die. But this excruciating journey was my destiny - no shortcuts to happiness for me. More like a plunge into hell.

During my downward spiral, I'd look at sick elderly people and wish I was them, wish I too was close to the end. I lost 1/5 of my body weight. For a time I was so fragile, so unstable, I felt sure that every step would be my last, that any moment I'd melt into the ground and disappear forever. On a weekend break with friends, I found I couldn't be alone for a moment - one or other friend had to be with me at all times (in bed, in the bathroom...), mostly touching me to confirm I still existed.

My brother, a practical dude without a spiritual bone in his bottom, implored me to embrace the pain. "It's all important, every last bit of it, you need to feel it completely," he'd say. I had no idea what this meant but he too was separated so I allowed myself to trust his wisdom. Lurchingly, I surrendered to the agony that my life had become. And guess what? My brother was right. Surrender was the only option. And despite my conviction at times that I'd be in free fall for the rest of my life, there was in fact ground waiting to catch me. I bottomed out. And then, with a little short-term help from a chemical friend, the magic began. Little by little, my strength returned and I was able to tap into a deeply practical side of my nature, directing my focus on setting up the next chapter of my life. It was a massive undertaking but I got on with it, tackling what was on my plate today to the very best of my ability, refusing to give headspace to stuff that lay ahead - that groaning to-do list. I reminded myself that doing my best right now was enough. It was in fact all I could do. Hell, it was all anyone could ever do. I became a master at living in the moment.

I organised a move across continents to a city where I'd never lived and where I had only one friend. I purged my life of half its possessions. I found a school for my youngest kid. I hand-held my eldest through her final school exams. I wrapped up our lives in the tropics with the prerequisite leaving parties and birthday parties and crazy high-school costume parties. Somehow I even managed to earn a qualification as a teacher in a (let's call it this for now) alternative therapy. I simply rolled up my sleeves and got on with things (as my sister likes to remind me, I'm pretty good at getting shit done). Throughout this time, my ex would 'come home' almost every weekend. He too was suffering immensely, and he was angry. Understandably. Having him mooch about the house was just one more aspect of the pain I had no choice but to embrace. So I embraced this too.

And now I am here, in my new home, in my new country, in a city where I still rely on a GPS to get me to the supermarket - happy! I'm in a building phase and I'm as excited about what lies ahead as I was aged 18 when I was setting off for university. I love this place. I'm teaching and writing and powering my way through Netflix. My days are pleasantly full with practicalities and silence. I cook for my teenage son and submit to his boisterous tackles. I send love parcels to my daughter. I go for windswept walks and sink into deep baths. I rejoice in visits from my sister and passing friends. I laugh in the face of daily 'problems'. I'm awash with relief (I survived!) and joy (I love my life!). 

Where painful life experiences are concerned, leaving my marriage tops my list. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. It was also the bravest and most essential. My goal with this blog is not to be flippant about marriage or to encourage separation (god forbid) but to inspire readers to make their own difficult, painful, brave life decisions, so they too can experience the serenity, joy and sense of 'rightness' that are now mine.

So hello Steemitites! it feels great to be part of your community. I'm so grateful for this chance to share my journey with you.

Some kind of photo will follow...