Yesterday, February 13th, was the day that I divorced my abuser in 2019. Ironically, it was 26 years to the day that I married him. The court set that date, so if the Lord didn’t will that, I don’t know whom did?

So, I got a few text and instant messages congratulating me on my “freedom day”…my sister even stated that was the day I lost 300+ lbs., which made me laugh. It was definitely a day of liberation, because he had abused me for the final time in September 2017, but had his attorney hold off on the divorce, as all of the criminal charges and things were building against him. I honestly thought he’d done that to see if I would come back to him. Not. A. Damned. Chance.

At the time, I had to fire my attorney, because every time I emailed her with information and/or a question, she charged my retainer fee $40 each email, despite her telling me to stay in contact with her. His attorney was stalling the divorce, so I took matters into my own hands. I personally went to the Clerk’s office and asked for the soonest date. It had gone WAAAAAAY beyond the 60 days waiting period. The day of the hearing, I told the judge, all by myself, that I needed closure. He agreed to the terms and signed off, despite my abuser crying in the court room and be consoled by his attorney. It made me look like a real b*tch, but I was used to looking like the bad guy. I HAD to advocate for myself! Ironically, my abuser texted me to ask if I could go get coffee afterwards, to talk. I declined, via text.

While that in itself was a victory, I mourned what could’ve been. Could’ve been, IF he had been a caring husband, not an abusive one. I made a vow to myself to not mourn what would’ve NEVER been. It’s fruitless. It may seem cold, but everytime I think I might start mourning things, I look at the document that has all of the logging I did when he was tormenting and stalking me and I stop. Simple as that…sometimes I need reminding, even now…