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Abstract

9">It took me a long time to accept that this isn’t my house anymore. I love this house. I renovated with my Forever Home in mind. We splurged on the high-end fixtures so that we wouldn’t have to do it later. Eight rooms had recessed lighting put in because I fucking hate floor lamps. I finally got my little appliance garage to house my mixer.</p><p id="c85c">Now, I treat it with a renter’s mentality. If Joseph doesn’t care that the kids are carrying milk around the house then fuck it, neither do I. It’s not my job to scrub that carpet when they inevitably spill it. When he gets coffee stains all over the white countertops, I don’t wipe it up. He can deal with the ensuing scrubbing.</p><p id="ca24"><b><i>If Joseph lets them play with slime outside of the kitchen, as long as they don’t get it on the couch I’m taking with me, I couldn’t give a fuck where that goo ends up.</i></b></p><p id="24f7">One kitchen cabinet lost the little clear bumpy pad doodads at each corner for soft closure. Not a big deal to replace, I’ve been replacing cabinet bumpers for the last twenty years. As a result of the bumpers falling off, two circular sticky residue marks remain, making the cabinet stick when trying to open.</p><p id="a0fd">“I don’t get what’s going on with this cabinet,” Joseph hangs at the cabinet door. Aside that it’s been almost six months without the bumpers, his lack of critical thinking has him completely vexed as to what would cause the cabinets to stick and not have a soft close anymore.</p><p id="f439">He frantically opens and closes it, trying to figure out what it is. It takes all of my energy to not morph into Bitch Mode and yell, “are you fucking kidding me? The bumpers fell off. That’s why it’s sticky. How do you not see the two sticky circles on each corner? How can you not figure out that if the door is sticking to the cabinet, that means something needs to be placed between the two? How can you not open another cabinet and easily see what’s missing?”</p><p id="ac5d">Instead, I tell him to replace the bumpers and seethe in silence. Will he eventually realize how much I handled silently for this family? It’s never the big things that drain energy; it’s the little, daily to-dos that add up and create a massive mental load.</p><p id="50a9">If anyone isn’t married and/or has children with a partner, <a href="https://www.workingmother.com/this-comic-perfectly-explains-mental-load-working-mothers-bear#page-11">this cartoon sums up the mental load concept perfectly</a>. Even if I have to delegate that task, that’s not a partnership; that gives me a Project Manager role on top of everything else.</p><p id="0e1e">While I’ve reduced my Care Factor when it comes to this house, I’m still chomping at the bit to have a place of my own.</p><p id="0488">I’m a planner. I’m also the kind of person who pays off debt as fast as possible. When I receive a bonus, my brain automatically deducts upcoming expenses because I don’t take on major expenses without saving up first.</p><p id="4812">Without a home, I don’t know what my future expenses are. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be saving up for. I don’t know what sales I need to keep an eye out for, like microwaves or ceiling fans. I don’t know if I’ll have to learn how to sand, prime, paint, and re-hang cabinet doors.</p><p id="b5c7">I can force myself to go with the flow for short chunks of time, like on vacation. Since Ma

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rch 2020, all my planning came to a screeching halt.</p><p id="513f">My go-with-the-flow reserves are depleted. Security and safety are very, very important to me. Not knowing where I’ll be living in the next few months with little to no strategizing makes my skin crawl. I already have a generalized anxiety disorder; living with unknowns for extended periods chews away at my body and mental health.</p><p id="35da">There isn’t much I can do. The last few therapists I had offered no assistance since their cookie-cutter wisdom didn’t apply to divorces during a pandemic. I couldn’t indulge in Me Time when working at home while homeschooling children (<i>one with autism</i>).</p><p id="d678">Even when I had a moment free, there was nowhere to go with places closed. Social distancing meant hanging out with friends wasn’t a mental reprieve either. I quit therapy once my insurance stopped covering it for the year.</p><p id="725f"><b>I’m doing as much as I can to mitigate the situation. I hoard cash when I can. I’m getting rid of things I don’t want to pack and move with me.</b></p><p id="d861">I’m accumulating moving boxes in the absence of having easy access to packaging materials since my office remains shut down. I devour Redfin with the enthusiasm of a porn addict, assessing common DIY projects that are needed for most homes in my price range.</p><p id="04d0">Thankfully, I have wonderfully supportive friends who provide me distraction when I need it and allow me to bitch as well. Combined with Medium as my writing therapy, it’s all I’ve got while I sit waiting for my divorce to move at a snail’s pace.</p><div id="4f8e" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/my-daily-thoughts-while-living-with-my-soon-to-be-ex-husband-6d2881b8b7c4"> <div> <div> <h2>My Daily Thoughts While Living With My Soon-To-Be-Ex-Husband</h2> <div><h3>Not soon enough.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*js2w9trJ3vH7x2Kv)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="1bdf" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/negotiating-with-your-separated-ex-about-dating-fb9fcd1dafa0"> <div> <div> <h2>Negotiating With Your Separated Ex About Dating</h2> <div><h3>I present my case, Your Honor.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*8IgBiUzeX-TgKQnRGFUchw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="7872" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/how-do-you-end-a-marriage-amicably-34259a3081af"> <div> <div> <h2>How Do You End a Marriage Amicably?</h2> <div><h3>Clearly, I’m failing.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*n_-2CsZX6PF08EZQ)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

I Didn’t Think This Would Happen In Divorce

When you finally get the courage to change.

You guys.

You guys.

I can’t even with how slow my divorce is going. How? How is this possible?

My situation is relatively cut and dry. We earn roughly the same amount. We’ll share the kids 50/50. The only asset that’s an issue is our house, mostly paid for by his inheritance; my lack of fighting for any of it should make it a no-brainer.

Joseph and I began with the mediators in March. It’s now June and the court finally filed my petition to divorce. The DMV could have processed that shit quicker.

In California, there is a minimum of 6 months of waiting from the date that the respondent (aka, Joseph) receives the petition. I’m barely making it in time for my ideal December 2021 cutoff for divorce; I don’t want to file joint taxes next year.

I want to buy a house. I want to finally live my life. It’ll be almost a year since I first started these talks with Joseph, resulting in months of hysterical meltdowns and fighting. To buy a house, even in this shitshow of a real estate market, means I need my name taken off the current home loan.

I can’t have my name taken off the home loan until Joseph has the marital settlement agreement back from the mediators.

The mediators are still drafting it and we need another meeting to review it before we sign it.

I’m at the mercy of Joseph getting off his ass to do the paperwork to refinance (he has zero motivation or incentive to get it done promptly), the mediator writing up the agreement, and the court clerk who isn’t going to lose their job if they don’t hustle with filing my paperwork in a set amount of time.

Hear that loud thumping noise? That’s just me over here banging my head against the wall waiting for things to fucking change.

The worst part about this divorce is that it took me years to get the courage to pull the plug and yet, nothing has happened. The anticipation of a massive, life-altering event makes you feel like you’ll be thrown off a rollercoaster midair.

In reality, divorce is like pulling a ticket at the DMV; you pulled ticket P78 but they’re still servicing A23. After all the mental momentum and internal pep-talk, giving yourself Rocky-worthy inspirational speeches, only to end up in a waiting room as sloths work behind the counter.

I had no idea that divorce is slow, anticlimactic after years of agonizing drama.

It took me a long time to accept that this isn’t my house anymore. I love this house. I renovated with my Forever Home in mind. We splurged on the high-end fixtures so that we wouldn’t have to do it later. Eight rooms had recessed lighting put in because I fucking hate floor lamps. I finally got my little appliance garage to house my mixer.

Now, I treat it with a renter’s mentality. If Joseph doesn’t care that the kids are carrying milk around the house then fuck it, neither do I. It’s not my job to scrub that carpet when they inevitably spill it. When he gets coffee stains all over the white countertops, I don’t wipe it up. He can deal with the ensuing scrubbing.

If Joseph lets them play with slime outside of the kitchen, as long as they don’t get it on the couch I’m taking with me, I couldn’t give a fuck where that goo ends up.

One kitchen cabinet lost the little clear bumpy pad doodads at each corner for soft closure. Not a big deal to replace, I’ve been replacing cabinet bumpers for the last twenty years. As a result of the bumpers falling off, two circular sticky residue marks remain, making the cabinet stick when trying to open.

“I don’t get what’s going on with this cabinet,” Joseph hangs at the cabinet door. Aside that it’s been almost six months without the bumpers, his lack of critical thinking has him completely vexed as to what would cause the cabinets to stick and not have a soft close anymore.

He frantically opens and closes it, trying to figure out what it is. It takes all of my energy to not morph into Bitch Mode and yell, “are you fucking kidding me? The bumpers fell off. That’s why it’s sticky. How do you not see the two sticky circles on each corner? How can you not figure out that if the door is sticking to the cabinet, that means something needs to be placed between the two? How can you not open another cabinet and easily see what’s missing?”

Instead, I tell him to replace the bumpers and seethe in silence. Will he eventually realize how much I handled silently for this family? It’s never the big things that drain energy; it’s the little, daily to-dos that add up and create a massive mental load.

If anyone isn’t married and/or has children with a partner, this cartoon sums up the mental load concept perfectly. Even if I have to delegate that task, that’s not a partnership; that gives me a Project Manager role on top of everything else.

While I’ve reduced my Care Factor when it comes to this house, I’m still chomping at the bit to have a place of my own.

I’m a planner. I’m also the kind of person who pays off debt as fast as possible. When I receive a bonus, my brain automatically deducts upcoming expenses because I don’t take on major expenses without saving up first.

Without a home, I don’t know what my future expenses are. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be saving up for. I don’t know what sales I need to keep an eye out for, like microwaves or ceiling fans. I don’t know if I’ll have to learn how to sand, prime, paint, and re-hang cabinet doors.

I can force myself to go with the flow for short chunks of time, like on vacation. Since March 2020, all my planning came to a screeching halt.

My go-with-the-flow reserves are depleted. Security and safety are very, very important to me. Not knowing where I’ll be living in the next few months with little to no strategizing makes my skin crawl. I already have a generalized anxiety disorder; living with unknowns for extended periods chews away at my body and mental health.

There isn’t much I can do. The last few therapists I had offered no assistance since their cookie-cutter wisdom didn’t apply to divorces during a pandemic. I couldn’t indulge in Me Time when working at home while homeschooling children (one with autism).

Even when I had a moment free, there was nowhere to go with places closed. Social distancing meant hanging out with friends wasn’t a mental reprieve either. I quit therapy once my insurance stopped covering it for the year.

I’m doing as much as I can to mitigate the situation. I hoard cash when I can. I’m getting rid of things I don’t want to pack and move with me.

I’m accumulating moving boxes in the absence of having easy access to packaging materials since my office remains shut down. I devour Redfin with the enthusiasm of a porn addict, assessing common DIY projects that are needed for most homes in my price range.

Thankfully, I have wonderfully supportive friends who provide me distraction when I need it and allow me to bitch as well. Combined with Medium as my writing therapy, it’s all I’ve got while I sit waiting for my divorce to move at a snail’s pace.