For Better, Not Worse

January 1, 2019

She took out the black gel pen from her desk drawer along with her 2019 planner. Year after year, she'd write the same unfulfilled New Year's resolution. Time and time again, she'd tell herself that this year would be different, but things always stayed the same. "Not this time," her conscience whispered.  

She thought about his last words as she walked out the door for work this morning. "You just don't look like you did when we met. Don't you care about yourself anymore?" She thought about the tears that raced down her cheeks as she closed the door trying to hide her face from him, and the tears that blurred her vision as she drove through the morning traffic to the office.  

Twenty years of marriage and their youngest child was a freshman in college. She remembered when they first met twenty-two years prior at the same college that they're daughter now attends. They were so young and so in love. She thought about when he used to grab her tiny waist, spin her around, and thrust her into the air. She thought about their wedding day and the promises he made.

She became pregnant during the first year of their marriage. The birth of their daughter was the greatest day for them. He promised to love every scar, every wrinkle, every crevice, stretch mark, and imperfection. Now twenty years later, they were the disdain of their marriage. He hated looking at her. He wouldn't look at her before or after a shower. They slept with an invisible wall dividing their king-sized bed. They hadn't been intimate in months and the last time, was when he had come home drunk from a party.  

She did not like who she saw in the mirror anymore than he did. She wasn't even sure who she was anymore. Perhaps if he would love her more, she could love herself. The loose shirts would hide a lot, but they also made her look even bigger. A pony tail was her preferred hair style because she didn't feel pretty anymore. She became depressed over the past year, some days were worse than others. She remembered holding the bottle of pills in her hand contemplating on various occasions. Sometimes she just wanted to end it all, but only one thing kept her going -- their daughter.

 Enough was enough. She opened the cover of the planner with the engraved words "Make this year count" written on it. This was her year, this was her moment. "I think I can. I know I can," her reassuring conscience chanted. With sheer determination, she began writing in the January 1, 2019 block. "220 lbs. -- This year I will lose weight and feel great about myself again". She read it back to herself four times as if for encouragement. She made a diet and exercise plan and was determined to stick to it. 

February 1, 2019 -- 218 lbs.

Two measly pounds. This month was a trying month for her. She tried walking and exercising for at least thirty minutes a day, but after work she'd be so exhausted and burned out. She made it to the gym about once a week. Some nights she'd sit down for supper, but after rebuking stares and disgusted looks from him for the size of her plate, she'd push it away and head straight to bed.  

She'd lay in bed tortured by cravings, hunger, and thirst, but not for food or drink. Her soul wanted more. If only she had encouragement from him, but at the mere mention of weight loss, his only reaction was a taunting laugh that followed a moment of awkward silence.

She knew there was someone else. He'd come home late from work, or leave out after dinner and return home late and wouldn't even speak or look at her. She wondered why she was still with him. Maybe if she could get the weight off, he could love her again and she could love herself again.

March 1, 2019 -- 215 lbs.

She was still losing, but not as rapidly as she wanted. She made it to the gym a few more days this month than she did last month. Sometimes she'd eat before she came home to avoid the shame and humiliation that he'd subject her to. If she had known he'd become the monster that he is now, she would've never looked his direction on the veranda that first encounter. But now, she was stuck, stuck in a lifeless, loveless, meaningless marriage.

April 1, 2019 -- 210 lbs.

It was their anniversary this month. She suggested that they celebrate somehow, one last failed attempt to salvage the shattered pieces of whatever it was that they had left. "I hope you're not thinking about eating out!" He erupted in abrupt, over exaggerated laughter as if there was an audience looking on who actually thought he was facetious and entertaining. The sound of his voice began draining the soul from her body.

She thought about the good times, the good days, but they were so long ago. She thought about her childhood, her college days when she was carefree and happy. She thought about daffodils and daisies from her grandma's flower garden, rides in the wagon with her siblings on her uncle's farm, she thought about board games and family time, sharing stories at the dinner table, second chances, walks by the ocean, real living, breaking away, running wild and free like she did as a child. The child within her longed to run free once more.

She realized she had been trying to lose the wrong weight. So this month, she stuck to her decision about dropping pounds, but not her own -- the 180 pound pompous, arrogant, chauvinistic pig that she called a husband.

Today she would take a sick day after he left for work. She pulled two duffle bags from the basement to their bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed to think. Would her income be enough for survival? What would their daughter think? Would he even care? She could hear her mother encouraging her to stay for security as she had encouraged her to for the past five years. She loved her mom, but her advice made her miserable. She was tired of being miserable. 

She rose instantly and began packing her things into her two duffle bags quickly before he came home for lunch. She opened up old, dusty photo albums of their family and strolled down memory lane for a few moments. She took her favorite pictures, pictures from her youth, pictures of when they were all happy, and pictures of their daughter from birth until now. The vows came back to her mind from their wedding day -- "for better or worse, til death do us part". 

She rolled her bags to the front door. She scanned the living room for a notepad. On the end table, she left a note with her wedding ring on it. It simply read, "I'm leaving -- for better, not worse".  Her confidence jolted. She felt strength come back into her body. She looked in the mirror by the door and loosed her ponytail to let her hair free. She was feeling beautiful.

When she opened the door, a cool breeze blew across her face and caressed her cheek. It tossed her flowing, brown hair about as she stood with her head back and eyes closed, breathing in extended deep breaths of liberation. The sun shined it's rays through the mountainous hills and dense wooded area that adorned the distant horizon. It warmed the cold, lonesomeness that had been harboring itself in her soul for a while now.  

She stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her. She walked proudly with her shoulders back and chin raised, off to her car to drive away from the past that had her feeling as if she had no future. She felt revived, rejuvenated, weightless. The weight on her mind had lifted, the weight on her shoulders had lifted. She was feeling lighter already. She loaded her bags, took one more look back at the place she once called home, and drove off towards the sunrise. For her, it was a new day, a new start, a new life.  

She loved herself again without anyone else having to love her first. She had her life back, her youth back. She dreamed, she wished, she dared. She ran, she jumped, she skipped, she sang, she danced.

July 1, 2019 -- 170 lbs.

She thought she could... and she did.