The End of the End
It scarcely seems possible, but June of 2025 was the fifth anniversary of my ex-husband’s death. With each passing year, and with the possibilities of awkwardly running into each other at family events long gone, it’s become easier to remember and talk about the good times in our early marriage. I’ve been working hard to share those with my daughter, who needs to hear that it wasn’t all bad. A lot of forgiveness has happened, for my actions as well as for his, in these five years.
I’ve written enough – too much, perhaps – about the pain of those last 10 years of our marriage. Suffice it say neither one of us was the person we wanted to be for one another. He was a narcissist whose world revolved around making himself feel better by making everyone he loved feel bad. I know that when I’m wounded, I can lash out and be incredibly hurtful to others. You’ve really got to push to get me there, but, when I was younger, it was easier. I learned a vicious tongue well from my grandmother. Undoubtedly, we said and did some awful things to one another.
I’ve reached the point where I’m done writing about that pain.
When my first marriage ended, I was mostly working on survival. I honestly didn’t know exactly who I was anymore. Was I a likeable person? Did I still have value? What were my interests? What did I want out of life?
At the time, I was certain of two things:
I’ve talked a lot about how becoming an Alexander Teacher during the end of my divorce was the best possible thing that could have happened to me. Without a doubt, it saved my life and provided the clarity I needed to be able to move forward, to examine myself from the inside out, mentally and physically together, as a unified whole going forward.
This is where my search for my passions began.
I consider myself a life-long learner.
I’ve written enough – too much, perhaps – about the pain of those last 10 years of our marriage. Suffice it say neither one of us was the person we wanted to be for one another. He was a narcissist whose world revolved around making himself feel better by making everyone he loved feel bad. I know that when I’m wounded, I can lash out and be incredibly hurtful to others. You’ve really got to push to get me there, but, when I was younger, it was easier. I learned a vicious tongue well from my grandmother. Undoubtedly, we said and did some awful things to one another.
I’ve reached the point where I’m done writing about that pain.
When my first marriage ended, I was mostly working on survival. I honestly didn’t know exactly who I was anymore. Was I a likeable person? Did I still have value? What were my interests? What did I want out of life?
At the time, I was certain of two things:
- I wasn’t going to live in the scarcity model anymore. Scarcity doesn’t mean being poor, it means expecting the worst. Doing without because you should. Withholding emotion. Not believing there was hope for a better future.
- I was tired of being stuck and depressed. I needed to find out who 40-year-old Robbin was, and who she wanted to be for her second act.
I’ve talked a lot about how becoming an Alexander Teacher during the end of my divorce was the best possible thing that could have happened to me. Without a doubt, it saved my life and provided the clarity I needed to be able to move forward, to examine myself from the inside out, mentally and physically together, as a unified whole going forward.
This is where my search for my passions began.
I consider myself a life-long learner.
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