I Built My House On Quicksand

Healing myself one re-play at a time.

I think about quicksand a lot. As a kid I know we all thought it was much more prevalent than it is in reality. However, as an adult I find emotional quicksand everywhere I look. Go look up the steps to surviving quicksand on any search engine…go ahead, I’ll wait.

On the results I found, the first step was to make yourself as light as possible. Toss your bag, coat, or anything weighing you down. Make yourself fucking lighter they say? Tamales and whiskey have ensured that would never physically be the case for me, but emotional shedding of weight is an intriguing concept.

I find navigating my way through my divorce can sometimes be exciting because of the new possibilities that now lie ahead. However, I find myself reviewing choices I’ve made, searching for lessons and pitfalls so I don’t repeat them in the future. Sometimes it’s as if I’m re-playing a black and white movie reel of all the decisions I’ve ever made while I sit in a classroom alone. So dramatic, I know.

Hearing the reel spin, sometimes embarrassed by my younger self, standing outside of my own decisions, studying each move with the scrutiny of an Olympic judge. Over-analyzing would be my Olympic sport, and my trophy case would be littered with gold medals.

When I am quiet, my mind is roaring with thunder, and this is what’s happening inside. A few nights ago, I was drifting off to sleep, my reel spinning, the crackle of a record player serving as the soundtrack, and then I saw it.

I saw the moment I laid the first beam, the first floorboard of my house, on quicksand.

Well, why the fuck would you do that, Roxy? I know, I know.

When I met my husband, he let me know he was recently divorced. Since I’m not afraid of the hard questions, I let some weeks go by and then confronted him directly. I asked him, to his face, if he was truly divorced. He assured me he was.

Time went by, his “ex-wife” found my number and told me to stay away, but he explained it away so well. I was in rough shape at the time, emotionally. I wanted so desperately to believe she was the crazy, deranged, selfish woman he had made her out to be. Because if that were true, it meant he truly loved me, and I wasn’t being used as a temporary stop, a holdover, a porch for his baggage if you will.

One year and a proposal later, I’m sitting in a restaurant with his sister, whom I barely knew. She is a lovely, loving human being, but what I didn’t know at the time was she is adamant for people to live in truth. Not a negative trait by any stretch of the imagination. It just was something I didn’t know at the time but she quickly gave me an education.

The conversation started light with the common questions about family, work, etc. Somehow a few moments later, I’m sitting in front of her as she tells me my then fiancé was still married when I met him. I was so stunned I was silent…and I’m never fucking silent.

She told me when he was at his mom's house, discussing the pros and cons of divorcing his previous wife, he accepted a call from me. She knew I existed before I had any clue about anything.

I let her know that I had no idea. He’d stuck to the same story over the course of time. That’s what true crime shows teach us, right? You know someone is lying if their story changes. What they don’t tell you is people will convince themselves of a version of reality, maintain that consistent narrative, because it serves them. People will tell the same story over and over as long as it gives them what they seek. What they desire.

As I ripped down the highway toward home, I was fuming. His sister had no motivation to lie. She had nothing to gain from the lie. He did. If you’re ever trying to figure out who is lying, figure out who stands to gain from it. You’ll be right every time.

He stood in our bedroom telling me this story about how he’d already filed for divorce before telling his sister and mom. My head was spinning, my gut was screaming, but my heart wanted non of it to be true. My heart successfully, unfortunately, silenced the other two.

As our wedding date approached, I couldn’t shake any of this, so I demanded a copy of the divorce paperwork. He got me a copy…and there it was…the date. The date of the divorce was approximately ten months AFTER we started dating. I don’t mean casually going on dates or hooking up. I mean exclusively dating and in a committed relationship.

I demanded answers. He gave me some, most of which I was intelligent enough to know were bullshit the moment they left his lips. As I was staring at the boxes of wedding décor, ready to be delivered to the venue in a handful of days, I had a choice to make. Is this really a big deal? I mean, the divorce is final at this point. My head, gut, and heart instantly went to war once again. Of course, as is true with most damaged people, my heart drowned the other two…again.

Those were the moments. The two moments I had to make the crucial decision to lay the first beam of my future house on quicksand or not. I chose to do it. To build my house, where my heart, my future, my children would come to be, on the least dependable foundation of all.

I’ve watched this particular reel many, many times over the years. There has to be a lesson in there right? I mean, this relationship is ending in divorce, surely there’s a fucking lesson somewhere.

In our late 30’s, there aren’t many of us left who aren’t scarred, broken, or bruised in some way. We are all constantly healing from something. And that is okay. Through my determination to torture myself, I’ve realized that it is not perfection that creates a stable home. It is honesty.

Lies, not baggage or damage, are the real components of quicksand.

I’m relieved to share I’ve finally turned off this particular reel of memories. This film festival of poor decisions, driven by the power of low self-esteem. As I sat at my best friend’s table on New Year’s Eve, sharing this with her for the very first time, I finally said the words out loud. You cannot build a house on quicksand, but I knowingly did it anyways. I know I alone am responsible for those decisions.

Back to the first step of quicksand survival, I can see now that I ditched my self-worth in an attempt to make myself lighter. For survival. Turns out I was trying to survive a relationship I didn’t even really want to be part of long term.

Going forward, as I heal myself, my sense of worth, I have promised to seek not perfection, but honesty and truth. I will never allow my head, heart, and gut to be at odds with one another again. I no longer have to wonder why I feel torn to shreds on the inside. I’ve been at war with myself for decades. My self-esteem and worth will never be things I will shed again. I can’t truly survive, much less thrive, in the world without those things. Neither can you,

Whether my future is with someone else, or on my own, the foundation of my next house will be solid as fuck.

Thanks for taking time to learn about a piece of me. For more pieces that make me whole, feel free to check out my profile page. 18+ only. Thank you!