October 16, 1999, it was Sweetest Day. You know one of those made up Hallmark holidays we celebrate in Michigan. The weather was sunny and 80 degrees. It was gorgeous for a Fall day in Michigan. I was marrying my best friend. A man who loved and prayed for me. A man that went to church with me. Being married to me meant being equally yoked. My desire was to be the wife described in Proverbs 31.
I was raised in a two parent home. My parents modeled how they worked together and provided for our family. Every little girl I knew or at least me wanted to marry a man just like their dad. I enjoyed being a wife and working full-time. We had four wonderful years before our children were born and after when our family was completed. And after their birth we traveled and had still fun. I felt blessed. I always believed that if we could survive infertility, a premature birth, and my surgeries, that we could survive anything.
When I realized that our marriage was in trouble, I immediately started praying. I prayed for God to change him, fix him and change his heart. But you see I was wrong. I needed to pray to God and ask him to reveal to me my faults and errors. It’s not my place to change anyone else. I have that never give up spirit. It’s not over until the fat lady sings and I wasn’t ready to sing yet.
It is important to share that our marriage troubles were before Sydney was born. So, autism didn’t cause my divorce. I made sure that I had done everything in my power to save our marriage. No marriage is perfect. But marriage is supposed to make you happy. You should never be married and feel all alone.
I will admit that I stayed for my children. I don’t judge any woman who does that same thing. We mastered putting on our happy faces at church, in public and at family events. We looked the part on our Christmas card photo that we sent out every year. But we weren’t living it. Everyone knows their own breaking point. You know the straw that broke the camel’s back. I felt like a failure to my parents, husband, children and especially to God. After much fasting and praying I filed for divorce in January 2013. During this time I remained “classy not trashy”. See I had to do this because my children were watching my every move.
Divorce is like death. The panic set in once I filed the papers. My strength that had carried me through many storms was now gone. I would be a black single mother, raising a black male, and a daughter with disabilities. We were a statistic. My divorce was finalized on June 21, 2013. And the fat lady started to sing.
The next blog in this series will continue with making strong choices and decisions once the ink is dry on the divorce papers.
Always walk with your head held high, no matter how much you are hurting.