Yesterday was an abysmal day. Ex wrote a scathing e-mail to me, after I counter-offered his insanely high spousal support demand with a low one. I am in shock. Still am shaken. His spite and anger and resent – everything came out. He knows about boyfriend, about my new tattoo…and he finally is taking the dog away from me, until and if “we gain mutual respect.”
I knew that I was going to be punished. I was waiting for it. It finally came. I could have done things differently, could have been softer or idk. But I know the result would have been just the same. I am hurting yet I am still so shocked, I don’t understand how he can take my beautiful dog away from me after 10 years of deeply caring for her. I knew he would do it, I was just waiting and it finally came. People told me that I could have maybe been softer to play his emotional manipulative game…but I did not. I was direct and in his words “dismissive” by e-mail. But he would waffle on about his emotions and guilt me like there was no tomorrow. Either way, he blocked me everywhere now and it is done.
His ego is beyond bruised. I will take a while to recuperate from his e-mail, his words still haunting me this morning as I wake up with my heart beat pounding in my chest. My baby girl, my dog. I love you and I am very sorry. I do not know whether I acted the best way or did the right thing or choose the best behavioral avenue, but I did it nevertheless. Separated in May and I will finally see a divorce petition filed in court. Hooray?
About eight days ago, I received the dreaded spousal support email. Without divulging (and therefore waiving) any confidential information, I’ll just say the number was about 200% more than I anticipated. Great.
I had been terribly anxious about that email, and that number. When it finally came, I crashed. I spent the whole day crying and letting it all out. I don’t feel despair or hopelessness anymore. What I feel now is anger. I feel used. I feel like he keeps a thick, invisible string tied around my neck that he pulls whenever he wants to. He is not letting me go. He thinks I owe him, that he is entitled to (my) money. I understand that spousal support can be requested legally, and that is fine, but I am essentially paying for my abuser’s lifestyle while he completes his PhD. Again, I left him everything I had: stock, car, checking account… you name it. And I paid for him for the entire duration of our relationship. I am eight years younger than him, and frankly, I almost did not survive him. It took every ounce of strength I had to leave. I am depleted and slowly regaining my vitals, but he is still here, trying to wear me down. He cannot comprehend why I would abandon him when he is, allegedly, such a god.
I was so proud of myself for letting it all out that day, on my own. I was proud that I could welcome the emotion instead of fighting it back, and simply accept that yes, this hurts, and that is okay. I felt something inside me get a little unstuck… like I am learning to feel safe, at peace, and in touch with my emotions.
Then my parents came to visit me in Los Angeles from France. My mom presented at an italian american society I recently joined, and it was a very emotional evening. I introduced her (which led to a lot of tears), and then she presented for about 90 minutes on an Italian opera. We visited landmarks in East Los Angeles, and I threw them a barbecue with my friends. But most importantly, we had a relaxing, chill time: hanging out, cooking, watching Shrek, and taking it slow.
The last time my parents visited was back in 2023. My ex drove them all over Los Angeles from the minute they landed and never let them relax. He insisted on eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner out, and he always had them pay. Always. He treated them like cash cows. I kept telling him that my parents don’t need this, that they much prefer hanging out with us, cooking at home, going for walks, and doing one or two activities a day. Please don’t drag them to an Italian restaurant two hours after they land, before they’ve even showered. My mom is Italian, and they don’t care much for Italian food in Los Angeles. They weren’t even allowed inside the apartment we shared and had to get an airbnb.
This time around, I was able to host them properly. They had their own king-size bed with a super comfortable mattress, a credenza, a closet, hooks to hang their clothes and towels, and their own balcony. The guest bedroom is looking very good, and despite the single bathroom, my apartment is big enough to host them comfortably. It was so special. I managed to pay for a lot (and overall, we took it much slower and only went to two restaurants, lol). And they met the boyfriend, whom they already love. Said boyfriend had a very complicated relationship with his ex-wife’s family and was immensely stressed leading up to meeting my parents. Safe to say, we both conquered it. It felt normal, easy… right. We all had a lovely, relaxing time. They left yesterday, and the apartment feels empty without them.
I am so angry about the past and the hurt, but at the same time, I’m so thankful for the lessons it squeezed out of me.
Yesterday, I responded to my ex’s spousal support number with something that most likely sent him into shock. I can’t manage his emotions anymore, but god fucking hell, I am anxious. My stomach is twisted and my heart is racing. I want this to end. I want him to walk away and leave me alone. I miss the dog, so much. But I surely do not miss him. Just hoping that the divorce train keeps on running, so that an end at some point in time, is in sight.
The day I wrote my last post, someone died at the conference’s cocktail reception thirty minutes later. One of the lawyers just dropped dead, literally. I am not quite sure what to think of that, but the reminder of Memento Mori continues to echo in my brain. After that came four nights of heavy drinking and almost no sleep, coupled with conference activities like falconry and bunker tours, and I flew back from West Virginia a shell of a human being. I woke up several times a night with heart palpitations, major anxiety, and dread. You name it. Last night I woke up at 3:30 a.m. in the arms of my lover, my heart racing, convinced I was going to choke.
I know what it is. I am waiting for my ex to send me his initial spousal support number, and after more than two weeks of radio silence, the waiting is making me incredibly anxious. I’m trying to brace myself for the emotional toll of negotiating what is essentially a business deal in the middle of a divorce. To be honest, I’m scared. I’m also ashamed, because my parents and I are still roped in this bad situation somehow. I wish this could all be behind me already. My body can’t relax. It is beyond exhausted, an exhaustion I haven’t felt in a long while.
And yet, yesterday I celebrated with my best friend’s family, and it was amazing. My parents are flying in from France in two days, and tonight I’m making shepherd’s pie for four. I am so tired, yet I feel so full, as if my life is magic and, at the same time, weighed down by the gloom of divorce, spousal support, and an ex who lives four blocks away in a city as big as Los Angeles.
Every day, I try to remind myself why I left. Some days it is really hard to remember, and I feel guilt and shame for feeling confused. I don’t believe he did anything with intention or purpose anymore, and I failed to see how deeply he was struggling with his mental health. Still, I hold on to the memories of fear, pain, and distress. I hold on to them so I won’t forget.
Somehow the brain tricks you into remembering the good: the good times, and the good qualities he has, because despite his controlling, anxious behavior, he does have really good qualities. So I remind myself of how my body reacted to him: the constant fight-or-flight, the enormous pressure and anxiety, my racing heart, the stomach problems, the actual physical pain. I was not laughing much anymore, loosing sleep – feeling incredibly depressed and hopeless. I felt utterly dead inside. As my mom put it, “the light in my eyes was extinguished.”
I don’t know what to make of these conflicting feelings. Grief is strange. Seeing him walking our dog the other day really hurt. I miss her. I miss our life as a trio. I miss certain moments with the three of us dearly, and I miss her so much.
I’m also frustrated, because I know some people in our lives think I’m mad, or completely crazy, for leaving him overnight. I fight that feeling every single day. I am not mad. I was scared, riddled with fear, anxiety, and apprehension, and, funnily enough, I still am.
Wow. I have been incredibly slack around here. I apologize; I have no excuse. I’m currently in the middle of nowhere in West Virginia, at a very fancy hotel, to attend and present at a lawyer conference. I flew a red-eye with a layover in Atlanta, i.e., hell. I slept two hours on the plane, supplemented by a 30-minute nap.
I slept poorly the night before because, guess what: as my new boyfriend and I were driving to the gym, I saw my ex walking the dog, a tenth of a mile from my boyfriend’s house. Thirty seconds earlier, and we would have run into him at the intersection, and he would have seen us both in the car. Me and a stranger, in his eyes. It sent a delayed jolt through my system, initially I nervously laughed but now, it just feels…bad, for the lack of a better word. Once I knew he had moved four blocks from my boyfriend’s place, I knew it was fucked and that I needed to be ready to run into him at any time. My cortisol is spiking; I walk in fear. That neighborhood was a safe space, my safe space, but now I’m not sure what to do or feel, or how to make it better. It feels tainted, and my underlying anxiety has been creeping back up. Dang it. I was okay, stable, and overall quite happy, and all of a sudden, he took that away from me. Yet again.
It’s now 6 p.m. EST, and I’m getting ready to attend the conference’s cocktail reception. I simultaneously hate and love those events. Right now, I just want to eat, have a drink, and sleep. I’m pushing through it, as my boss would say.
I thought I’d check in and share a little about what’s been happening. My birthday was over the weekend, and that, too, was magical with a hint of weird (I’ll share more about it). I am mourning a prior life while thoroughly loving my new one. My boyfriend bought me a Switch (yay, Zelda!!), but most importantly, he wrote me a beautiful and deeply meaningful love ballad. He’s a musician, one who made a career out of it, and that unpublished song is my most cherished possession, something I will forever remember and adore. It makes me want to do very romantic things with him, and some, to him. I feel incredibly lucky. Yet at the same time, I feel plagued. I love you so much, anonymous musician, yet I don’t know where to put the rest of my conflicting, grieving emotions. Suffocate them? Caress them? Throw them in front of a truck? Eat them? Bury them next to a tulip?
This week is my birthday week (Libras, unite!). Yesterday I had a pre-birthday celebration, surrounded by friends and loved ones. It was a joint party with two other European (birthday) girls, and it was great. So many people came through, and it felt really special. The week ahead looks just as good: I’m getting sworn in at an Italian-American society in Los Angeles (months of work and networking), I’m hanging out with my best friend, I have a spooky movie night with my girlfriends, and on Saturday I’m going to see my favorite band ever. &, on top of it all, I have a beach day planned on Sunday (my actual birthday, and my favorite activity to do).
Oddly enough, there’s a lingering feeling that my ex should have been there. I celebrated ten birthdays with him, including some really important ones. The last one with him was bad. This time last year, I ended up in the ER in Canada after a massive mental breakdown on a work trip. A few days later, I saw three psychiatrists, who all diagnosed me with a serious mood disorder. I was crying all the time, on top of pretty serious depression and anxiety. My mind kept swinging between X and Y. I couldn’t make a single decision, and I felt incredibly stuck and hurt. Despair became my companion. I dissociated constantly and couldn’t feel anything. I felt like a Sims character.
On my birthday last year, my ex left me alone all day because “I had not requested his presence during the day” and “I need to organize things with him because his time is valuable.” Instead, he went to play soccer with a team he had barely put together. Then he was annoyed that he had to get me flowers (I like flowers on my birthday). His reasoning was that because he had helped plan my birthday dinner that evening, I could entertain myself during the day. So I spent the day crying on the couch. I watched Intouchables, barely ate, and walked the dog. My parents (who live in France) sent me a pretty plant on my day, and I cried some more. I dreaded the evening, felt like I couldn’t survive it, and wanted to cancel. He pushed me to go out and celebrate, and honestly, it was a good thing. I had a great time with my friends – although I drank too much and almost did not make it to the toilet bowl.
This year looks very different. I feel like I have so many new friends, a whole new circle, and I celebrated at a really cool spot in Los Angeles. Not many old friends were invited, the ones who would have been at my birthday for years, because navigating our shared friends has become a very tough endeavor. I’m quite sad about that, and at the same time immensely relieved.
My growth over the last year has been tremendous. I exercise five days a week (CrossFit, HIIT, strength training), I’ve built a huge gym community, I have lots of new friends I love, I travel a lot, I’ve reconnected with my family and old friends, as well as hobbies, and I found a job I adore that fits my lifestyle really well. As cheesy as it fucking sounds, I’ve reconnected with myself and found more within myself. I’m confident, and I feel much more at peace. It’s as if the storm has settled and the waves are no longer crashing against a wall.
Life doesn’t feel so crazily overwhelming anymore. Yet he still pulls me back a little. I can still feel his invisible hand, a decade of love and care (on my end) that’s taking time to unravel. It feels odd, because I now see him as weak and, quite frankly, pathetic. I don’t think he had evil intentions or set out to be manipulative, but he was so fucked up. Such a boy, with little confidence, immense anxiety, and narcissism. He was killing me softly. And yet I feel sorry for him, for how much he lost because of his own hubris. A Greek god who suddenly lost it all.
Sometimes I want to cry or scream, but nothing comes out. I’m a little afraid that I felt too much and went through so many traumatic years that now I feel nothing, or so little. It truly feels like my mind is still protecting me from the constant high stress and trauma I was subjected to. Little by little, I’m trying to give myself the space to think about what I’m feeling, and to actually feel it. Sometimes it works, and this blog definitely helps. But most of the time, it still doesn’t. I’m being patient with myself, because there is progress. One day, when someone asks me how I feel, I want to be able to answer with something other than “nothing” or “I don’t know.”
I’ve been slacking on here. Sorry. It’s been an odd week. I spent it taking care of the dog (my beloved) and seeing friends again. It feels like there’s a distance between me and my friends now. I’m not sure why, but I’m struggling to be more present. It’s also my birthday month, and I’m throwing a party this Sunday with two other birthday girls. Seventy people RSVPed going, so it’s going to be pretty fun.
Last night at 9:15 PM, my ex-husband emailed me. His car had broken down and he was stuck on an LA highway, and he wanted to know when our dog had last been taken out (I had returned her to him that afternoon). I immediately dropped everything and drove to his place, since he wasn’t there, to take her out and feed her. Immediately. I gave my boyfriend a heads-up, and he got upset, which led to our first “fight”. It was gentle, respectful and kind. It wasn’t really a fight, more a serious conversation, but it was still our first. He felt threatened that I dropped everything to go see the dog the moment my ex needed help. It was also 10 PM. I get it: if the roles were reversed, I’d feel the same way. In the moment, I was so anxious about the dog, who had been alone for almost seven hours, that I ran straight to her without thinking. The problem is the precedent it sets with my ex – that I am still willing to drop everything and help him, via her. But I want to choose this new relationship, and I am so over my ex.
Oh, and I also put my boyfriend’s car in drive instead of reverse and bumped into the car in front of us. Thankfully, the other car had a tow hitch and wasn’t damaged, but his car was. Not badly, but still.
I also went to the doctor yesterday for an allergy test. After being poked 47 times, I learned I’m severely allergic to dust mites (great), weeds like pigweed, and cats (a bit). On the bright side, I’ve finally recovered from jet lag, though it took a while. All in all, it was a weird, stressful week:
Dog care and the handoff, which meant a lot more talking with my ex
My first serious conversation with my boyfriend
Guilt over the car and the ex situation
Severe dust mite allergies
Money stress after the EU trip
What interests me is how I reacted during our serious conversation. I freaked out. I felt cornered and anxious, my heart was racing, and I was boiling with stress. I kept chuckling nervously and had no idea what to say. I couldn’t put into words what I was feeling, and I felt so guilty and bad. Because of that, it felt like I had done something wrong, like I’d cheated on my new boyfriend with my ex. That absolutely never happened, and it never even crossed my mind! But I was so visibly freaked out that he asked whether something might have happened. I immediately chuckled and got defensive, which only made me look guiltier. I couldn’t believe he’d think that, and it made me even more anxious.
He saw how distressed I was and calmed me down. He asked how I felt, why I might be feeling that way, and what would help ease the urge to flee. I told him I hate conflict and avoid it at all costs (ironic for a lawyer, I know). I saw a new side of him, and he saw a new side of me. I think it made us stronger. This morning he apologized again for feeling stressed, threatened and a little jealous. He’d never shared feelings like that with me during my whole divorce, so it took me aback. I told him not to apologize for having feelings and thanked him for being so open. We both felt a little silly, apologized, and comforted each other last night and again today.
I still need to work through this. I think because I’m such a people pleaser, and so afraid of causing hurt or starting conflict, I lose my mind when conflict actually happens.
I made zero social plans this past weekend, which is incredibly unlike me. I’m watching the dog right now and chose to stay put all weekend to spend some quality time with her at my lover’s home. Or maybe the jet lag forced me into rest. Either way, I was running around all day Saturday: I caught up on some work, went to a CrossFit class, unpacked my big suitcase, bathed the dog, and washed her bed. I did a million loads of laundry and cleaning. I also ordered her a bunch of cute ocean-themed toys on Amazon, restocked her food and treats, and got her favorite, a beef bone to chew on. On Sunday, I did nothing with my lover. Well, “nothing.” I went to a slow stretch yoga class, got a massage, bought some Italian sandwiches (and made friends with the owner), played video games with my lover, made carbonara together, and we finished watching Atonement. I have no clue why I felt like writing about my weekend today. I guess doing normal, chill things on a weekend has felt so foreign to me that the fact I did it feels like an immense victory.
I used to cram my time with an incredible amount of social stuff, so much that I barely had time to breathe. It felt like I was running away as fast and as far as I could. Constantly running. My emotions were constantly boiling, so tangled that I couldn’t unravel anything. I had no idea what I felt or why I felt it. I was a kettle, always whistling. The anxiety and stress were extreme and showed up in all kinds of physical symptoms. Ultimately, it all led to a mental breakdown last year.
Today, out of that relationship, I feel at peace. It feels a little easier to leave the dishes in the sink, to not answer a text right away, to work a little less, and to make room in my daily life for things that calm me, like this blog. (I know, I know, I don’t write every day, but trust me, I’m trying.) I can take some me-time without freaking out about my life. I can rest. I feel relaxed and content. Of course, some existential dread still resurfaces from time to time, and anxiety sometimes creeps in. But no more going to bed with my blood boiling, jaw clenched, and heart racing with anger. No more walking on eggshells. No more making myself so small that I could barely exist. No more shielding myself from his extreme anger and violence, his impatience and unkindness, his darkness. I finally feel entitled to my own existence.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I still struggle with being alone with my own company. But I’m no longer scared of being alone with my thoughts, and I actually welcome the intrusive, painful feelings. I don’t run from them anymore, though saying I fully and truly embrace them would be a lie. I do think that to love myself, I need to be loved by someone else. It is what it is, and for now, I am content with it.
I’ve already grieved my past relationship and all the pain that came with it: I listened to podcasts, journaled, and saw a psychologist for three years. All that work, plus the new meds, saved me. It gave me enough strength to leave, to choose myself. And I did all of that alone. I’ve done “the work” (again, whatever that means), so why can’t I keep doing it with a partner by my side? Every self-help book would tell me not to jump into something serious right after a bad relationship with a sour ending. Truth is, I don’t care. I no longer care what anyone or anything thinks I should do with my personal life. I left that relationship because I felt I had no agency. Work is another matter, and I’ll gladly defer to my overlords’ thoughts and decisions. But when it comes to my own life, I’ll make my own decisions, thank you very much. If at some point my gut or my body tells me I got it wrong, I’ll leave, and I trust myself to do so.
For now, I’m happy. Oh god, I’m so happy. So, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to announce that my lover was promoted to boyfriend a little while ago. After almost six months, I can say it: I’ve finally found someone who walks beside me with peace, respect, and kindness, and I strive to do the same for him.
PS: I think I got new subscribers? Not sure what you find in me/this project, but thank you for reading and sharing a little corner of the internet/my soul with me.
A visual representation of my weekend. And yes, I wish it were me but it is not.
Sorry for the radio silence. I thought about you, though. I was buried in work in London, then went to Paris for almost a week. All with my lover. I attended my 10-year high school reunion and saw an incredible number of friends and family. It was so much, yet at the same time, so little.
To be the daughter of an immigrant in Los Angeles — in my case, Italian and French — is a wonderful experience. Everyone in the United States, especially California, is from somewhere else, and incredibly proud of their roots. It’s starting to feel like home. This divorce is tainting that feeling somehow. It reminds me that I was never really from here because I did not choose (alone) to come here, yet I want to cling to something I fought so hard for and built.
I attended a one-year law program just to transfer my credentials so I could attend law school in the U.S. That alone took months of applications. Then I had to get accepted. Once accepted, I had to fight. I took the bar twice, mind you, in my second language. No employer knew my credentials here, and on paper they looked far weaker than any other JD student’s. I did a couple of informational interviews a week, securing them first, then preparing for them, every single week for nine months. I lined up four interviews (two of which I flew to LA for from the Bay Area) and got two offers. I want to make this mine.
But then I return to France, to Europe, and I’m faced with the reality that this is, or should be, home. I only lived in France for two years total, but it should feel like home. I feel good there. I reunite with old, dear friends, the food makes me feel better, and so does the pace of life. I miss France a lot, but I know living there would be a fantasy. I know it wouldn’t be what I expect, and that, overall, I should stay under the palm trees.
I’m back now, dazed and confused with jet lag. I am caring for our dog (co-parenting with my ex-husband), and having her back in my life after two months of missing her is wonderful yet scary. Getting back into the swing of things, and for me, that’s always bittersweet. I’m leaving behind a life I knew and loved, and I need to keep building a new one, across the Atlantic.
As I was thinking about a theme to write about today, I felt empty. Utterly empty. Is that a good thing? Unclear. Feels odd, uncomfortable, and peaceful all at the same time?
I had another day of corporate meetings in London, marketing myself and my practice – goal is to sign new clients soon and build my own book of business. Partnership is right around the corner. Big question is: do I even want that? Those clients are not exactly the kind of companies or entities I want to represent. I do not think they are worth my time, and indirectly, life. I feel conflicted about it. I worked so hard to get this far in my niche, and I am the youngest one in my entourage to pursue this…yet I also feel empty? Like, do I want this, or am I just doing it because I feel like others want it, and so I should too? Long-term plan remains to save the marine wildlife and oceans with Earthjustice – and become part of its Our Oceans department. I have always wanted to work for the environment. As they say, “the Earth needs a good lawyer.”
This week, and the next, are incredibly busy social and work weeks in Europe. Amidst the chaos, the re-uniting with very old and dear friends, I feel such melancholy and emptiness. Are any of my decisions right? Should I live in LA? Should I be a lawyer? Do I feel, happy? I have not felt this calm and empty in quite a while, due to my crazy last few months escaping a bad marriage. And overall, somehow – emptiness feels like happiness?
Writing to you all from London. The number of times I used to visit here was astounding. I spent every other weekend here during my uni years in England. Weirdly enough, I miss the tube. I miss busy sidewalks and shops everywhere. I miss the cobble stone, the wooden pubs, the cathedrals and brick walls everywhere. The breeze. The overcast weather. LA can feel like a burning hell hole sometimes.
It is an odd feeling feeling to be back here. As if I am visiting an old friend, with whom I have not caught up in a while. Even the stench of sweat in the tube brings me back. So much has changed in the last ten years. I was very much in love with my ex husband back then. Every song reminded me of him. We were long distance for about a year and a half, but I fell deeply in love with him in England. Now, ten years later, I realize that it was complete infatuation. I was 18, and he 25. When we moved in together in Norway 2 years after, the bad experiences began. It became a coercive relationship. I was told horrible things often, felt trapped, unloved (in fact hated), used, disrespected, manipulated – coerced. I lost my appreciation of life quickly. I lost confidence. I got diminished, pushed down, stepped on. My family saw my down fall. My friends too. I was not letting anyone help me. Anyone who would try to help I shut down, i.e. would block them. He pushed a lof of that on me too.
I started having flashbacks. I am close to being free from him (minus the spousal support part, evidently). Flashbacks of ways he talked to me, what he said, how he touched me and shook me. Flashbacks of horrible times, where I would cry on the bathroom floor, and wonder if life was worth living at all. The coercion peaked. The pain too. It all led to a major nervous breakdown leading to a major diagnosis – at a time where he had unilaterally decided to open the relationship (one way) just for him. He could see girls, I could see girls. That was it. No talk. “Either you allow this, or I am leaving you.” And that was 30 minutes after I understood that he had cheated on me two years back. Mind you, this was in the St Martin airport, after a 10 day vacation. He was frustrated at my weight back then. Anyways, I disgress.
Somehow, London reminds me of him. Of my love for him. Oh I was so in love. I saw a friend and her parents yesterday, folks that I have known for 21 years. I was telling them about the recent divorce updates. Her father looked at me and said something that will stick with me forever – “you learnt, and that is invaluable.” No shaming, no pity, no anger, no frustration, no shock, no sadness. It was refreshing. I felt seen. He also shared another incredible piece of advice that I will write about another time.
As I am about to exit the tube (next station), I think of this old and new chapter of my life. If anyone out there has coercion stories, please comment – together, we can sharpen our swords and feel less alone.
