Crossing the Finish Line is an autobiography. I've never written in this format before except for small blog posts but this is my 2017 NaNoWriMo offering. As some would say, I'm a total pantser. There is absolutely no outline and the snippets I share are in no particular order.

The point of WriMo is to write.
Write 50,000 words in 30 days.
It's okay if it's a white, hot mess because editing happens later.
So I'm trying to get some words down and with the help of my friends and fellow WriMos, we're going to cross the finish line together!

My statement of WriMo intent

Short Synopsis:

Who's gonna care about my story? It's the thought that's plagued me for years and I've finally hit the point where this story isn't for you. It's really for me. I have a lot of life stuffed in my 46 years; triumphs, heartbreak, loss and coping mechanisms. It's part historical document, part self-help, and all me. I have been my biggest barrier and I'm ready to cross the finish line in order to enter a new beginning.

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The Day His Mistress Called

“If you don’t love him why don’t you just let him go? I will take care of him. I will love him.”

It was an unexpected phone call and a question that knocked the breath from my body.

I think perhaps my mind went into survival mode because the house of cards I called my marriage, which was stitched together with tolerance and heavily glued with denial had been effectively blown to pieces by a phone call.

Subconsciously I knew my husband was having an affair; probably several. I had selective vision for some things and make excuses for other things.

Why did he pack cologne to go to work? Oh yeah, he said he was going to shoot pool with his friends after work.

Why do we have a $600 cell phone bill? Well, cell service is very expensive. It is the 90s after all.

Why is he working a double? It’s okay. His hours are tracked and the paychecks are still coming.

Is he having an affair? No. He wouldn’t do that. We have three babies and he loves me. Besides, he comes home to me every day.

For every doubt and every question I had an answer to assuage the fear that my marriage was actually shit, but this woman on the other end of the phone may as well have slapped me. In one moment I had a gross amount of reality and it shattered the unhappy fantasy that I tolerated because this was my existence no matter how messy. It was mine. And then it wasn't. He wasn't...mine.

Don’t get me wrong. I love being a mother. I loved the whole process of pregnancy and caring for my children but I was a very unhappy stay at home mom. I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t cut out to be the ultimate soccer mom, PTA president, Gymboree, Boy Scout den mother slash taxi driver. The idea that I even attempted it is laughable to me because it wasn’t me.

When I was 15 I had to beg my parents to sign work papers so I could get a job. Work meant income, a sense of accomplishment and self, independence, and a built-in social life of sorts. Once I started having children my husband decided that motherhood would be my full time job.

I buried the resentment of seeing him get dressed for work and reward himself with a night out for working so hard. I convinced myself that it was my duty to be content with my existence; that I could sacrifice my career until the boys were grown; that I could be the “happy homemaker” as long as my husband came home every night and brought a paycheck.

I was holding on for dear life and embracing denial with everything I had because the alternative was too scary to think about. What would life be like as a single mother? What would sleeping alone feel like after being used to having a warm body next to you for five years?

My denial kept me miserable but it was safe. This one phone call was a swift kick of reality right in the vagina. I wanted to puke. My body heaved so hard that I literally fell to my knees and wanted to die right there.

It was the first time I truly ever felt the dark depth of my soul. I cried so hard that it felt as if my body was suspended in pain.

And I hear her voice on the other line…confused.

“Why are you crying? Oh please don’t cry! He said you didn’t love him. Please don’t cry.”

And somewhere in my pain the voices inside my head got stronger.

Stop being so fucking stupid. You knew this was happening, Meredith. Your sons are going to look to you as their first example of how a woman should be. Do you want to be this broken, weak woman? Hell no. But this hurts so much. I'm scared of the unknown. It's a new beginning. Then why does it feel like my entire world ended? Shut up. Just shut up.

I suddenly became very silent and nearly laughed as I heard a little panic in her voice. "Are you okay?"

“You want him?” I asked. “Take him. He’s all yours.”

I hung up the phone and don’t recall how long I sat there. I suspect if anyone had walked in on me I may have been near catatonic. The world as I knew it was gone. I could not deny how broken my marriage was anymore. But who could I tell? Certainly not my parents. Telling them would admit that I’m a failure at yet another thing.

I couldn’t tell my sisters. They would raise all kinds of holy hell and they would be a direct line to my parents. I reached out to my oldest and dearest friend, Geri.

Honestly, I cannot even remember what I told her as I was an abyss of dark emotion. The one thing that I clearly remember is hearing her voice: strong, steady, concerned, loving. She was my life line.

She repeated over and over again, “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it through this. You’re going to be okay.” And she wouldn’t let me hang up until I told her that I was going to be okay -- correction -- that I promised her that I would be okay.

I honestly have no idea what I would have done without Geri on the other end of the line. As one phone call prompted the beginning of the end to my family as I knew it, my phone call with her was the beginning of the healing process to mend my broken self.