Your Future, Unknown

Courtesy of Divorce Purgatory.

I’m a planner. I’m (relatively) organized. I expect the worst, anticipate disaster, and plan accordingly.

When my son was 14 months old, we received a diagnosis of a chromosome disorder. He’s our firstborn and being parents is hard enough, let alone throwing in developmental delays, speech apraxia, sensory processing disorder, hypotonia, and a million other scary-sounding words into the mix.

For the first time, I couldn’t plan or envision the future. The best I can explain is from this Welcome to Holland essay. I’ve read it a thousand times and a thousand times it made me cry.

Now I’m in Divorce Purgatory. That’s the hell between announcing a divorce and the actual implementation of the divorce. Once again, I’m unable to envision the future.

I assume all planners are constantly in action because staying in limbo is torture for us. We don’t do well with “let’s see what happens”. Even if there are five outcomes, we plan for all five.

I can’t even imagine any outcome right now, other than the status quo, and remaining mind-numbingly miserable in my marriage. This frustration is eating at me. I want to book things. I want to create financial spreadsheets. I want to research online for…things. What things? I DON’T KNOW but I know that I want to look them up and choose which things to implement.

I’m okay with a fuzzy path forward, as long as I know the direction and endpoint.

What prompted this writing: I sat here, trying to calm my thoughts about life in one year. October 2021. Let’s assume we’ll be mask-free. Other than that…nothing. It’s blank. And not in a happy-go-lucky “your life is a blank slate!” kind of way. More like, I’m looking into a dark tunnel. I don’t know where I’m going, how to get there, and how to plan for what lurks inside.

It’s both terrifying and discouraging. Courtesy of Divorce Purgatory, I can’t Braveheart-esque yell, “They may take our lives, but they will never take our freedom!” and run into that tunnel. I sit at the edge, waiting, unable to strategize or think of the other side.

Divorce Purgatory is best described as being parked outside of a dark tunnel while continuously arguing with your spouse.

I look back at that diagnosis for my son almost 10 years ago. Hands-down, the next 3 years of his therapies were the most stressful of my life. The saving grace was that for the first time, my husband and I were on the same page and a true team.

This time I’m on my own (as is the nature of a breakup, obviously). The stress is unbearable when added to the general madness of 2020. It’s one thing to stay at home for 6 months in isolation, playing schoolteacher to your children, and trying to maintain a full-time job. I disrupted an already fragile ecosystem and with no outside outlets, we’re trapped in the hell I created.

I already have Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Now I’m in a constant state of numb hands and shortness of breath. I’m losing hair in clumps. Like full-on, grab-and-pull-out-a-feral-cat level of hair clumps. My skin, which once was in a perfect state of homeostasis, can’t decide which shitty condition to display each day. Peeling and dry for Tuesday? Maybe oily and breaking out for Wednesday. As for Friday, fuck it; go balls in with sensitivity and make it burn red. My nails are breaking. My back is destroyed.

You get the drift. When your partner won’t willingly leave the marriage, there is no planning for the end of it. It’s understandable as it’s the last shred of control they have. I get it. That doesn’t make me feel any better as I peer into the dark tunnel, unable to imagine what’s on the other side that could be any better than what I’m in now.

I tried to research “How to plan for an uncertain future.” Surely I don’t need to reinvent the wheel, right? Sigh. Google only gave articles about planning for coronavirus, business planning, and financial investing. I’m desperate for a Choose Your Own Adventure of life so that at least my only two options are whittled down and readily available.

In my line of work, we often ask, “What is the problem we’re trying to solve?”

Problem: I want to leave my husband, but I want us to be amicable for the kids’ sake. He’s emotionally volatile and historically has shown that it’s a craps shoot if he’ll remain civil and adult-like. He’s adamantly against breaking up and angry with me.

Problem: I want my kids to stay in this house (which I promised them yesterday after they bawled that divorce meant we’d move out). Either I buy my husband out, which would put a ginormous financial strain with my one income. Or he buys me out, which means I’m not in the primary home with them. Or we stay together in the house, so we need to have a realistic plan.

Problem: I want my kids to have easy access to both their parents. I don’t want 50/50. I want 100/100. I don’t have unlimited funds to buy the house next door. I don’t know all the options available to make this possible. Renovating the garage into my little apartment is out because that needs a permit and all our savings, right??

Problem: I want to perform all of this with minimal financial risk. Since it’s unlikely we can live under one roof forever, what is the next best option that has the least financial impact?

I know. My “wants”, above, are pipe dreams. Still, they’re goals to work towards.

I spoke with my home loan agent. I spoke with a divorce/marriage counselor. I have an appointment with a divorce attorney. I met with a Certified Divorce Financial Analyst. I’m reading all the books and websites. I feel lost and I’m pushing a truck stuck in the mud. I need help.

My best bet is to work with my husband to get on board with this separation. If that box is checked, the other problems become manageable. A month ago I wrote about how unwilling he is to break up. I’m not as far as I’d like in this persuasion but he’s at least willing to talk to the divorce counselor on his own. If he’s willing to continue seeing her (as well as both of jointly), then hopefully I can cross the first problem off the list and cautiously step into the dark tunnel.

Fingers crossed.