Although relatively gentle and humane, my divorce left me exhausted, exhausted and distrustful. Throughout our twelve years of marriage, I felt like I was playing the role of a Hollywood upper class wife and mother and no longer knew who I really was.
A controlling stepfather (who was obsessed with propriety) and being the only black person in every school I attended had stifled my true self: all I wanted was to fit in. and conceal anything that might irritate others. In my relationship, I presented to my husband the version of me that I imagined was the most acceptable, that he would not find irritating or disappointing.
Stop pretending
All of this came at a cost though. By the time I filed for divorce, not only had I lost touch with myself, but I had also developed a nasty addiction to sleeping pills. I went from one Zolpidem per evening to several per day, which I often washed down with alcohol. I was 43 years old, I was president of the parents’ association and mother of two children. Former advertising executive, former aspiring author, now former wife. When I made the painful decision to seek treatment, I invited my best friend over to discuss it all.
“The only positive point, I told him after crying on his shoulder, is that I can finally stop pretending to be someone I’m not.
– What do you mean ?
— I mean I’m bad at relationships, did I say. And I pretended to be good. Maybe this divorce will be a relief.”
As soon as I arrived at this Arizona rehab center, the walls began to close in on me. The orientation session took place in a small room with six new patients. I started hyperventilating. Mortified, I jumped to my feet and left.
Scott, another patient, ran after me with the sweatshirt I had left in the room. He knew it was against the rules: we were not allowed to interact in any way outside of our work group. I slowed down and whispered “THANKS” but he continued to stride along beside me.
The anti-soulmate
I have a hazy memory of our brief walk together, but my first impression of him is crystal clear: he was white, smiling, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a Hawaiian shirt. He talked about his two daughters, his favorite drinks (tequila and beer – he was there for alcoholism) and how hot it was in Arizona compared to Utah, where he was from.
I didn’t want to
