I checked out.

It’s been a little over a year now since my estranged husband moved out.
Yes, still husband.
Because we have yet to finalize our divorce.
I was under the assumption this had taken place months ago.
September, to be exact.
I chose not to attend the final court date (technically you don’t have to).
For lack of better judgment I never made sure it went through.
I think April 15th is the actual day he moved out.
In a way it feels like a lot of life has happened since then.
And in other ways I can’t wrap my mind around the time.

I had planned for one more horny entry.

I was saving my biggest lesson for last.
He’s the one I spent the most time with.
He’s who I had an affair with.
I never could come up with a nickname for him though.
‘Affair guy’ just doesn’t cover it all.
Fake good guy, perhaps?
He needed to be last because for a long time I wasn’t ready to write about him.
It has been many months since we fizzled out.
I have decided to be selective about what I share in this entry.
To protect myself and hopefully to keep the drama to a minimum.
He already had more access to me than I should of allowed.

When I look back on it all, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.
I don’t know who I was, who I was trying to be, maybe even pretending to be.
The best way I can explain it is overwhelming.
Every aspect of it.
He provided overwhelming support, reassurance, and availability.
It was intoxicating to go from little attention to a massive amount.
I felt seen, heard, and like I mattered.
Why was he so in?
He hardly knew me and what he did know, was that I was still married and living with my husband.

For most men the theme is that they’re emotionally unavailable, he was the opposite of that.
He was so willing to ask personal questions to gain trust.
We had many many deep conversations and they all have a similarity, it was a tactic.
He admitted to me once about always being emotionally invested with someone early on.
He did this to further his role/chance in the relationship.
I now know and recognize as ‘love bombing‘.
No wonder I couldn’t see the red flags, too much smoke.

I have had a lot of lingering guilt on how I handled leaving my marriage.
I only considered myself.
His feelings or him being a human, or ya know…my husband, didn’t phase me.
There was nothing anyone could say that would make me change my mind.

My deep regrets come from what I’ve put my children through.
I pride myself on being a good mother, that’s why it hurts so much.
How did I blindly pull them through my storm?
I swore I wouldn’t let their feet muddy from my mistakes. I did.
I have. I lost all sense of what really mattered to me, in the midst of trying to find the person ‘I was’ outside of being a wife and mom.

I’m so sick of typing that! Sick of saying it! Sick of believing it!
I’m not Mikah without Lennox and Colbie.
They are the biggest part of me.
My most prized treasure and I am so undeserving.
It doesn’t make sense how someone like me, could have someone like them.
I’m no one.
I’m not out of the ordinary.
I’m not special.
The mistakes I’ve made that haunt me, remind me of that.

There is one night in particular, that I’ve spent a lot of time replaying in my mind.
It was early into separation, Joe hadn’t even moved out yet.
I was spending my ‘off’ nights with FGG (fake good guy).
It was probably around 2 a.m. and my phone started ringing.
It was Joe.
I answered and I could hear Lennox crying in the background.
He told me Lenny was up looking for me and upset that he couldn’t find me.
FGG was beside me and could tell what was going on.
I remember him putting his hand on my knee, I assume to provide some sort of comfort or support.
I remember him comparing the situation to his and saying there would be an adjustment period for Lennox.
He too was a parent. “It’s normal. He will get use to it.”
Ultimately I decided to stay and not go home.
At the time I was so caught up in lust I couldn’t see five feet in front of me.

Now I ache with grief over time lost with my children.
Colbie was a baby. Hardly a year and a half. Lennox under 4. What the fuck was I doing?
Why didn’t I go home to my kid?
Why was this guy not asking me if I wanted to go home?
I’ve told a few of my friends about this. One questioned “who was benefiting in that scenario?”
Him or my son?
I made the choice, though it does make me wonder.
It would be simple to blame my behavior and actions on being unhappy.
That would be like putting a blanket over it.
I won’t do that.
It’s not me.
I am a lot of things.
Self absorbed.
Sometimes fake to maintain an image. Victim-y. Passive-aggressive.

I am NOT blind to my own bullshit.
I am self aware and self destructive.
I know I painted Joe in a light that made him unlikeable, while also omitting truths about my part.
It’s my story.
Of course I constructed it from my perspective, which includes not wanting to look at what I did.
I wasn’t ready for real healing. I wanted to skip mourning what I thought my life would look like.
I wanted to fast forward three years where I’m dating multiple guys because I could be.

[Side note: Monogamy early on in meeting someone is dumb. People should have to fight for your attention and time. Make an effort to DATE you. Men love a competition until it involves having to put in real time and energy, perhaps some vulnerability, too.]

I was checked out. I did what I had to as a mom while I had them on my days.
I don’t want to imply they weren’t cared for.
They were always fed, bathed, I tried to keep up with summer activities.
They were never left with sitters so I could go out.
Emotionally I wasn’t available to them.
I was short fused.
Always ready for them to go with dad.
I wanted to be with friends crushing white claws.

Or men.

Why lie?

It was easy to numb with sex.
I never wanted a ‘new’ guy nor was I interested in finding love.
I wanted easy.
I’ve always been hyper sexual.

I lost my virginity at 14.
I had multiple partners by 16.
I dabbled in sex work from 18-19.
I experienced molestation from a family member by the time I was 5.
Sexual assault from boys, who were sons of my moms friends around 6.
When I was 12, there was a 17 year old boy who lived in the apartment above us.
I remember him being cute, he took an interest in me.
We never made it to intercourse but he did persuade me in other ways.
Both of my parents would engage in sex with their significant others while we were in the house and able to hear.

Those experiences shaped me more than I’ve ever given them credit for.
I rarely acknowledge it.
I never made the connection between my sexual trauma to my hyper sexuality until recently.
Of course it makes sense.
It also makes me sad, disappointed, and angry.
I can’t get those pieces of me back.

It wasn’t until the end of August, after confusing guy broke things off between us, that I decided I wanted to stop engaging in casual sex.

At least for a little bit to get my mind back on track.
I had seen enough over the summer.
I had my vibrator charged.
I wanted to do it for me.
And just do myself, I suppose.
Sometimes ain’t nobody makes you cum like yourself.

No sex September ensued.
Sorta. I made it to the 26th.
Then for whatever reason…I hooked back up with FGG.
A bitch is stupid, what can I say?

I hadn’t seen him since the end of June.
Back then I wasn’t divorced (LOL I NEVER WAS) and his wasn’t final yet either.
We had seen each other consistently since March before this.
However, because our ‘relationship’ was intertwined with shame from having an affair, it was hard to decipher if my feelings were genuine or situational.
So when we linked back up at the end of September, it was kinda like a fresh start.
We could see where it would go.
We were both divorced now. (Or so I thought I was).
Things hadn’t ended dramatically with us in the summer, so I felt good about going back in with a clean slate.

We did couple stuff. Went on dates. Cooked at home. He met my friends, I met his. He met my mom. I met his family.
At first it was little things I noticed, that didn’t always match up to what he had told me previously.

Little white lies, but why?
My suspicions grew with specific incidents.
One being the evening I showed up at SG‘s house unannounced, to basically acknowledge my wrongdoing.
If you’ll recall, I ghosted him.
I had been to an AA meeting (yes a story for another entry.) and the building was located across the street from his house.
I had an overwhelming urge to go over and own my bullshit, so I did.
I knocked and he was surprised, but allowed me in.
By this point, he hadn’t seen me or heard from me since August.
It was now November.
I sat down in the living room and just spilled my guts about genuinely being sorry for acting like a coward.
He was very kind and accepted my apology, then went on to share about the girl he was seeing currently.
I was happy for him.
We hugged and I left.

I went straight to FGG’s house, he knew I had been at AA.
I immediately told him about going over to SG’s.
I was trying to do the right thing.
I’ll never forget his response, it rings in my head when I think about this.
“hmm I don’t like that. That’s sneaky. You’re being sneaky.”
Here I am trying to be accountable for my actions and I have some little dick bitch trying to taint my act of kindness.
This wasn’t the first sign of jealousy/insecurities.
It was just the most dramatic and unwarranted incident.
We dated for another 3 weeks before I knew I wanted out.
I probably knew before that but being a number 9 and a INFP, I WILL AVOID CONFLICT AT ALL COSTS.

Even at the expense of myself.
So…naturally, I did what any mature introvert would do.
I had 2 glasses of wine and had my friend drive me by his house to get my stuff.
I had been ignoring his texts.
I had my phone off.
I had a key to his house and wanted my things from there.
But was not interested in seeing him, nor talking to him. [No more love bombing please.]
We knew he wasn’t home because he had been CHECKING IN ON ME via IG message with Ellie.
Let me be clear, he had no reason to be checking in with my friends.
Some may view this as caring, it is controlling.


We decided we could quickly get me over there to grab my stuff and go.
We pull up.
All good.
I make my way to the door.
I had a key to the bottom lock but not the deadbolt, which usually was never locked but was this time.
I bet it was.
I had been short with him for almost a week at this point.
He knew damn well I wanted out.
I don’t think he wanted me to be able to retrieve my things.
Which is really fucked up because he didn’t even know about chicken n waffles before me, so like?
Give me my waffle fucking maker.

Next best thing was his bedroom window, I had crawled through a few times before.
It was kind of a running joke we had.
I’m funny, what do you want from me?

Not his house but yawl know I stay on that bullshit

I slid it up and crawled in.
Rush, the dog, didn’t even bark at me.
Grabbed a bag I had there and my clothes.
Next I went to the kitchen to get the waffle maker because there was no way in hell I was leaving that!
I bolted for the front door to find him standing right there.
Very interesting how he was just at the bar but moments later is home to catch me trying to get my stuff and go.
I started walking straight for the car.

*Picture me attempting to open the sliding door on Ellie’s van, just for it to jam.
I have to reattempt.
I swear to god 108 seconds went by before it opened all the way!*

Only to hear him behind me yelling about how “everyone was right about me”
“Joe was right about me”
“You’re not okay in the head” so on and so forth.
Dating me is high risk.
But like you were also the looney who went forth with having an affair with me, so?
Pick a side.
Since cutting ties with him he has threatened to reach out to Joe.
He created a rumor about someone I know, involving me as the source.
I believe to offer me a reason to reach out; or the conspiracist in me thought, to have me harmed or have harm come my way.
I have refused to take the bait.
I refuse to even defend myself because I don’t care.
I want nothing to do with him and wish he would of respectfully left me alone.

Every choice I made, leaving a concreate footprint behind me.
Each step weighing me down.
Accompanied by shame, no self worth, grief, and a lot of tears.
No magic eraser can touch this.
I could paint the walls, but what about the foundation?
I could spray for pests, but what’s attracting them?
[I’m a light house, I attract fireflies and a lot of bugs too.]
It’ll have to be a full rehab.
No Joanna Gains though, I can’t stand the picture perfect bullshit.
Maybe Alison from Windy City Rehab, she scares me.
I like that.

I’ve spent many nights on my living room floor crying.
Replaying every moment from last March until now.
Understanding that I stunted the bond between Colbie and I.
Watching the hurt on my sons face as he started school and really started to understand two different households.
Knowing the majority of my family had silently picked his side.

Back in February, Mimi shared that she had been worried I would end up like my mom.
Why? Because choosing me and not my marriage meant I would abandon my kids like my mom did us?
I can’t escape the shadow they’ve put on me.
Because I was troubled like my mom growing up, I must end up like her.
How could she think that?
And if she did, what was everyone else thinking?

My anxiety has become unbearable.
It feels like I can’t fully catch my breath.
I want to be outside of my head for a few hours.
I wish I could say I don’t care how people perceive me but I do.
My personality type depends on outside validation.
I try very hard to pretend I don’t need it, but I often fish for approval.

I know I’m a sinner.
I also know my children are a reflection of me.
Sometimes I wish when Mimi tells me that I’m ‘blessed to have such great kids’ -that she would consider saying “your kids are lucky to have such a great mom.”
If ‘bad’ kids are a reflection of their parents and environment, would she be a reflection of my mom?
Could I do more? Absolutely.
Could I be better? Yes.

I checked back in.

That’s all I needed to hear to snap out of it.
I am like my mom in more ways than I care for, leaving my children is not one of those similarities.
Am I still pissed at her for saying it? Sure.
“Everyone has a chapter they don’t want to read out loud.”
Her included.
The mistakes she made carried down to my mom, which untimely carried down to my sisters and I.

Now it’s my turn.
Our turn.
The pressure to break the cycle is soul crushing.
Sometimes I don’t know if I’ll ever make it there.
Fixing myself while being a full time mom has been a daunting task.
The first step I took to getting back to being present was deleting social media.
That choice was also mixed with a lot of embarrassment on how I’ve portrayed myself on posts in the past.
Followed by unpublishing my blog when I found out I wasn’t divorced.
I didn’t want anything I wrote previously to be used against me going forward, and yeah…in some sense I have a hangover from oversharing.

Self aware. Self destructive.
I needed to get back to a place of availability for my kids.
I’m unequipped.
I’m trying to really grow into a mom they won’t want to run from when they’re grown.

I don’t know who needs to hear this but you can’t advocate for a better you, while actively destroying your own.
Talking about being depressed and having anxiety will only get you so far.
Healing doesn’t come from a Facebook post.
Self care doesn’t involve materialistic items.
Growth doesn’t coincide with inconsistency.
[Me, I needed to hear this.]

I’m working on keeping up with what I’ve been doing the past few months.
Restrict people’s access to me because not everyone has good intentions.
Be present with my children.
KEEP cooking!
Stay off the scale!
Further find out what brings me joy.
Enforce boundaries.

When I left my marriage, it felt as if a lot of my friends / acquaintances / people I knew did the same thing.
Because I have written about my struggles openly, I received a lot of PM’s seeking guidance or just basic support.
Women and Men.
It put an unbelievable amount of pressure on me.
I’ve always said being vulnerable creates a space for anyone to be vulnerable with you.
I’ve had the privilege of being a safe place for many people.
But I don’t want to be the sounding board for ending your marriage.
I don’t want to be your inspiration to leave.
I don’t advocate for divorce.

If you really know me, you know I believe wholeheartedly in therapy, love language, intentions, effort, and how your personality type meshes with your partners.

[Example: as I mentioned earlier, I am INFP. Joe is a INTJ.

While we align in some ways, in the ways we didn’t, affected our relationship. Feelings being a bigger deal to me than him. Numbers meaning more to him than me. If I wanted to schedule family photos, I was met with distain over the cost. For me the memories being more important. For him the money not being worth it. I wanted meaning behind actions, acts of service for me. He wanted to put in time at work to provide for the future. He wanted acknowledgement for his efforts, affirmation for him.

In the grand scheme of things, we both cared about the same thing; family. Where we failed is how we went about expressing it to each other. Who’s were more valid? His because it was the big picture? Or mine because it’s the little things? Neither of us required or wanted anything that was unachievable. What was unreachable was each of our abilities to be vulnerable with one another. Which stunted growth between us and overtime…that’s what creates resentment.]

If being single taught me anything, it’s that a lot of marriages march to the beat of their own drum.

I’ve listened to advice from women whom accept the bare minimum from their husbands. I’ve heard stories from friends on their 4th baby and 10th year, owning that each day is a choice. I have friends who participate in ‘open’ marriages. Friends who maintain 300+ likes on family photos, only to have the walls of their home lined with despair. Friends who run up credit card debt unbeknownst to their husbands. Husbands with secret snap chat accounts. Husbands with seeking arrangement profiles. Husbands whom control all access to finances.

Everyone is living in a glass house, those who deny it are hiding the most.


Do your core values match your partners?
How does your childhood trauma affect your relationships?
Do you recognize your triggers?
How often do you like to have sex?
Every little piece plays a part.
The more you are able to recognize and align, the more you are able to show up for yourself.
For your family.
For your career.
Whatever it is that sets your soul on fire.

Have you started?
I’m starting.
Because my children didn’t ask to be born into my muddy waters.
Because it’s their time.
Because it’s about who I am when they grow up.
Because it’s about providing myself with healing that will bring more opportunities for nurture in my home.

Get in loser we’re healing and falling in love with life again.

Do not disturb.