Even this detour is a spiritual adventure

7 ways I'm surviving our separation after 28 years of marriage

There’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just rip the band aid off:

My husband moved out.

After 28 years of marriage and 32 years together, he announced on Jan. 2 that he was moving out. He got an apartment a few miles away and moved out on Jan. 25.

I’m all the things you would imagine: Crushed. Shocked. Angry. Sad. Confused. Numb. But that’s starting to fade as new joys emerge as this new adventure unfolds.

My friends in recovery constantly remind me, We will know a new freedom and a new happiness.

Bring. It. On.

I’m confident that will be true for us both, in time.

We still love each other and still want to preserve the vibrant family we blended and grew over three decades. We share great friends we both plan to keep. They don’t have to choose between us. They are all forever friends. So is the big family we blended. There are no sides to take.

There is only one side in all of this: Love.

To keep loving ourselves and each other, even though we don’t know what that will look like from here on out. But does anyone really? Life is full of mystery and moving parts.

So far, here is what has helped me get through each new day alone:

Our three amazing children and their spouses. They’re all full-fledged adults who are leaning in with so much love and support and wisdom, it could fill a book. I’m soaking it all up and applying it to this new life detour.

Our three joyful grandkids. Nothing takes away sadness like skating on a ribbon of ice with your grandkids and spending a weekend winter treehouse camping under the stars.

A good counselor. Everyone suggested counseling and I’m a big believer in finding the right therapist. She is helping me connect a lot of dots that scattered over the years and to release some of that shrapnel from childhood trauma that oozed out and into our relationship over the years.

Country line dancing. Every song at the Dusty Armadillo seems to match an emotion that needs an exit ramp. Pounding my cowboy boots on that dance floor is the best therapy, especially while singing along with Kelsea Ballerini, “I thought I’d miss you, but I miss me more.”

Hobbies that I had abandoned. I finally cracked open my piano and started playing Mozart and Chopin after years of those keys being dormant. No one else is in the house to hear my mistakes, so I make them loudly and proudly.

My giant circle of friends. They keep calling, emailing and texting their love and support. Some were mine from the start, some were his. Please build a big WE in your life. You never know when you will need all that support.

Reframing the story. It’s hard to be the one left, but I believe life happens for you, not to you. I am not a victim here. There are no victims and villains in our story. Just two people who never imagined growing this far apart.

It’s so strange to no longer have a witness to my daily life, no one to talk to about my day at the end of the day.

I couldn’t bear the thought of eating dinner alone every night, so I bought myself an entire fancy place setting at Crate and Barrel, with a sparkly silver placemat, cloth napkin, shimmery napkin ring, delicate silverware set, blue dinner plate, bowl, mug and drinking glass.

The night I bought it I took the dog out for his midnight pee and the moon beckoned me to look up. Swirls of blue, grey and beige circled it, just like the ones in my new dinner plates as if to remind me, the Universe is blessing even this.

Every time I look at that place setting on the dining room table, I pause and soak up my new life: I will greet this new chapter as a celebration, not a sadness.

And keep telling myself over and over, the best is yet to come, until I believe it.