Not so happily ever after

I was three hours into my drive when the landscape around me began to change. No longer was I framed by an arid, dry expanse that effortlessly spun miniature whirlwinds on either side of my moving car.

I had finally reached “Dead Man’s Bluff,” a rather ominous name for the most beautiful headland in the Atellier region. From here, I could smell the rich, briny scent of that salt sea air, causing a wave of nostalgia to collide with my senses. I could faintly hear the waves crashing against the rocky headland. Seagulls swarmed along the cliff’s edge, forcing me to lower my speed significantly. "All the better to take in the view", I thought to myself. And I was right. Today, the view before me was visually spectacular. A crisp, clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight and the turquoise brilliance of the ocean stretching outwards to meet a horizon. What a balm to my aching soul. 

I wound down my car window to take it all in. The sound of the ocean then amplified to a near-deafening roar. I could feel the sea in my very bones.

I was so close to my most beloved place on earth—a place that had seen me through good times and bad, where I had healed, grown and felt more inspired than at any other time in my life. Yet, it had been years since I could finally make the journey home, and the thought of it made my stomach ache. The suspense of it all clung to my skin like a heavy veil of memory, freed from the confines of the past. 

Excitement mixed with guilt as my mind replayed all the times I’d promised to return, only to break that promise year after year. Part of me was ashamed for putting the people I love on hold like that. "Who does that?" I would chastise myself over and over again, and still, I felt the need to stay away.

life hadn’t exactly been kind to me. yes, everyone has their own unique set of troubles, but I was only qualified to deal with my own, to truly see my own and to lament my own. And yes, I knew that I was selfish for thinking the way that I did, I see that now. But there was some reverent part of me that wanted to keep my troubles contained. The last thing I wanted was to bring my misery to this pristine place I loved so much. I couldn’t bear the thought of infecting my beloved home with the chaos that was waging a war inside of me. Writhing like a biblical serpent amid the rubble of my truly shattered heart.

But at the time, I didn't see it. It's not like I see it all now. At the time, breaking all those promises hadn’t felt like a big deal. After all, I was genuinely happy and completely in love, living the life I thought I’d always wanted. My friendship group changed, my professional goals shifted, all because of one man: Adam Colsen. The once great love of my life. I look back now, and I don't even recognise myself.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on Adam. It was high summer in Hobart, Australia. I was on holiday there with a large group of friends. I was holding a drink in one hand while chatting with friends. It was a kind of last horah before we graduated and entered the professional ear of our lives, whatever that meant. There I was, soaking up the sun and sipping an ice-cold beer, when the most beautiful man I’d ever seen stepped off a large yacht docked at the harbour.

The atmosphere was electric. A heavy presence of camera crews was there, covering the Sydney to Hobart yacht race, a prestigious international competition that is said to test one’s nautical mettle. The yacht Adam had crewed came in second overall, an impressive achievement given the perilous conditions of this particular voyage. Three yachts were forced to retire from the competition, while one capsized in the Bass Strait, prompting an internationally televised search and rescue mission.

There he was—windswept, sun soaked, holding an open bottle of champagne in one hand and wearing the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. My jaw dropped, and my best friend Emma had to reach over to close my mouth for me. But I was transfixed. And as fate would have it, he beamed that gorgeous smile in my direction, and I felt it in my knees. Our eyes locked, like something out of a movie. We stared at each other as reporters swarmed around him, until finally, my view was blocked by the press of bodies closing in all around him.

I remember saying to Emma right then and there that I would marry that man. And three years later, I did. I had never been so happy. Our relationship was like a fairytale. I couldn’t believe my luck—Adam was a prize catch, and he had chosen me. Our relationship was a whirlwind. The night I’d first locked eyes with him, I lost sight of him in the crowd at the event. After what felt like hours of searching, a male voice came over the loudspeaker, describing me. It was Adam, on stage, paging me. Oh, I was hooked. I honestly thought I’d met my soulmate, something I’d never believed in before Adam. But being with Adam felt so different and yet so right, like we were made for one another.

We had nine blissful years together. I remember we’d just started talking about the possibility of children. I’d never really considered having kids—I wasn’t one of those “born to be a mother” types. I was more of an “if I find the right man, maybe” types. And then Adam came along, bringing with him an absolute certainty to everything I’d once felt ambivalent about. He had an incredible way of grounding me, which only heightened each moment even more.

Truth be told, I became so enamoured with all that Adam was that I lost sight of myself. At the time, I didn’t see it. But when my world came crashing down around me, I was so lost. I released then and there just how dismissive I had been of the people I love. I was forced to confront my behaviour. I couldn't recognise myself. I felt so unbelievably adrift. Adam had always been a sort of anchor to me, and now, I felt like I was drowning, and there wasn't a lifeline in sight. It was a true dark night of the soul. I have never felt more alone.

But at long last, I’d made the decision to change. It began with the hardest step of all—leaving him. Adam, my once beautiful husband, the great love of my life… or so I’d thought. There I was, in my mid-thirties, with that smug attitude of “I have everything I’ve ever wanted.” I believed, body, mind, and soul, that I was living my very own happily ever after.

When it all came out, I felt so stupid. I was ashamed, embarrassed, and the weight of it was oppressive. No matter where I went, it lingered, staring back at me from every corner of my mind. I was consumed by a strange sense of grief, as though someone had died. I felt the loss of who I was keenly, and I mourned the life I had thought was real. yet here I was, on this oh-so-familiar stretch of highway winding around the jagged peaks of the most beautiful part of the world, I was trying to find the strength to forgive myself.

I was the woman who became so consumed by a man that I isolated myself from everyone who once mattered to me. Repairing the damage I had caused while trying in vain to heal was, I believe, the penance I deserved. I showed my true character and didn't like what I saw. It's funny; I had always thought better of myself.

I remember holding my breath when I called Emma after four years with hardly any contact. I was certain she wouldn’t answer. When I heard her voice on the other end, I burst into tears. Forty-eight hours later, Emma was on my doorstep, a bottle of wine in one hand and cherry cigars in the other. She hadn’t changed a bit. Fiery Red hair down to her hips this time, much longer than I had ever seen, and a smattering of freckles across the slender bridge of her nose. She was a welcome sight. 

That night, we didn’t sleep as I gave her an intricate account of what had transpired. I told her about the other woman; I told her about how he had a second wife and a gaggle of children. I told her about how he begged me to stay and that he loved us both. Apparently, his other wife knew about me and was totally cool about it. The whole situation was unbelievable, and yet, it was my truth. I completely unburdened myself to my friend, and it felt so cathartic to break that silence and bridge the gap between us.  I remember Emma sitting there, wide-eyed, completely engrossed in my every word. It was incredibly validating that she, too, found it hard to believe. “What can I say, Em, he’s an expert liar.” I had said to her.

That night, I begged her to keep everything secret until I was ready to share my story with others. “Don’t tell anyone”, I begged, “Please, Em—I’m not ready for everyone to know.” She grabbed my hand, looked me in the eye, and promised not to tell a soul until I was ready. It was then that I realised just how much I had missed my best friend. And just like that, I was no longer adrift. Yes, I knew in my heart that I would need to move mountains to make it up to Emma, but I was also so grateful to have the time to do just that.

It’s funny—I’d always believed myself to be the absolute best judge of character. I was a little bit famous for it in my circle of friends back in the day. My experience with Adam humbled me, to say the least. And as I look back at the rubble that is my marriage, I know that from this position, the only way is up.