I Don’t Want To Be Happy, I Just Want To Be Less Sad

I’m aiming low.

It’s been two years since my divorce. Two years since I moved out of my marital home and shattered my kids’ world, in the hope of experiencing happiness.

If I had known I’d be a bawling mess years later, I’d have stayed married. At least I’d be able to afford a haircut or nice boots.

My son inherited a chromosome disorder from me (which I didn’t know until after his diagnosis). It manifests as autism. One trait is all-or-nothing, black-or-white thinking.

He spirals into pity parties as to why his life is awful. These days it’s mostly about school, which he’s struggling with. He bemoans that he has to go, he isn’t learning anything, and that he’s going to fail anyway so why bother going? He’s twelve.

I desperately try to reframe his thinking, knowing what it’s like to grow up with that mentality. “Don’t think of it as I have to go to school, think of it as I get to go to school,” I tell him. I remind him that he lives in the most powerful country on earth and he’s blessed with an opportunity to succeed instead of breaking bricks all day to earn coins for bread.

I’ve also tried to explain that when bad things happen, imagine this is the least worst outcome. Any situation can be much, much worse.

I’m a hypocrite. I can’t frame my life with the same pep talks I give my son. When my kids are asleep, I spiral like him and think of all the ways my life is fucked. I dwell on mistakes and fantasize about going back in time.

Radical acceptance is the answer. I have to accept that I’m a part-time parent (fuck that hurts so damn much), I’m not part of a team, my finances are screwed, and my social structure has changed.

That’s a lot to accept…radically.

I think back to my mindset when I asked for a divorce. I felt empowered and had hope. It felt like I was breaking a generational cycle. I was naive.

My parents’ goal was to make me follow religion and succeed in college. And by “succeed”, I mean, being a doctor, lawyer, or engineer (the only acceptable option for any brown child). The only life skills I acquired are how to panic about money (granted, that one served me well) and gritting my teeth in public despite intense pain.

I left my parents’ house at twenty three ill-equipped to handle the real world. I was unaware that I had value and could demand better treatment. I didn’t know it was okay to be unmarried. I definitely didn’t know proper conflict management. I didn’t know how to communicate needs or love. I didn’t know families were capable of living without yelling and that violence isn’t normal.

Sometimes, I look at my life and feel intense gratitude that despite my lifelong inner turmoil, things generally worked out. I’ve managed a career even when I do the bare minimum work with no ambition. I’ve kept my job at times when my depression left me with enough energy to get out of bed. My current house is my fourth home purchase. I’m decent-looking enough and I’m small, the latter through unhealthy methods but I’m aware of the privilege being thin affords me.

In other words: I’ve managed to give semblance of being a functioning adult despite myself.

I have something due for work that’s two weeks overdue. But as usual, I’m the master of procrastination mixed with smoke and mirrors. My job isn’t hard and there’s no excuse for not completing the endless list of tasks.

I took two naps today. Life is exhausting.

How did I keep my weekends so busy before my divorce?

I answered my own question today: I had money.

The Southern California train system has holiday trains. I went to buy tickets, they were $25 each. I wouldn’t have thought twice about buying them because that’s relatively cheap, per person, for an activity where I live.

But I’m not married and with tax, it’s $83.80 for three tickets. I can’t justify it. The night before we’ll be at the Nutcracker with their father because I bought tickets months ago and felt generous enough to include him. Those cost me $173.16. I just can’t justify spending $256.96 in twenty-four hours.

All because I need to save to buy a home in the most expensive place on earth. I’ve got two years to move closer to my kids’ future high school.

Now and then I tell myself that I can enjoy life and there’s no need for me to move, but then I’ll do the drive between my house and my ex-husband’s house (it’s giant, I’ll sooner pay his mortgage than risk him losing it because it’ll be the kids’ home one day). It’s not sustainable at a time when my kids are struggling more and more with homework and life.

It’ll take two hours out of my day to drive my son to and from high school. That doesn’t include the time to drive my daughter to her school that same day.

If I were still married, we’d split who drove which kid (I’d end up doing the pickup for both because that was our life).

I need to stop the If-I-Were-Still-Married line of thinking. I miss the dual income. I miss my old house. I miss having my kids every day. I miss feeling like I was part of a “team”. I miss my wedding ring. I miss someone to deal with taking the trash out once a week.

I miss everything except the guy I married.

Radical acceptance. I need to start embracing it or else I’ll never get out of this pit of despair. It’ll be my personal theme as we head into 2024.