No longer hanging on

The Times, 2006

It was a shock, seeing that spider scuttle across the bathroom floor. Not least because it reminded me that, at the age of 33, I was single again. And not just any old single. But dumped-three-months-before-the wedding single. Even more of a shock was the way it made me giggle. Never again would I hear his thumps of rescue on the stairs. Suddenly I felt as free as a bird.

In my diary the big day, Saturday 25 September 2004, had been ringed with scorching biro for two years. On Wednesday 16 June 2004 I’d pulled a sticky brush of Tipp-Ex over it. You see, that was the other big day. When he announced that the wedding was off.

Is there anything more surreal than owning a wedding dress you’ll never wear? Or telling your shell shocked family to take those hats back? And how about the nudges of your closest friends, the ones who know you can take it, as they call you Miss Haversham?

For six years I’d been one half of a happy couple. The type who’d watch each other rather than the television. We decided to tie the knot in 2002, giving ourselves two years to do it because our organisational skills could make a cat laugh.

But it was in May 2004 that the fabric of our happiness frayed. There were no shock affairs or unleashed secrets, just creeping rifts that refused to heal. How could you lose the keys? Why didn’t you walk the dog? Are you bothering to pay that bill?

Niggles escalated into clashes that I still can’t believe we were capable of until, just weeks later, he shut himself down. His screaming wall of silence locked me out while I fought to save what was left. Then, finally, came his decision to leave, like a torturer putting down his weapon. It was over.

And it was at that moment that the spark of the woman I am now cracked into life.

Now, I’ve always been determined. I learned to fly because I was scared of planes and learned to swim because I was scared of water. So when it came to Splitting Up determined was the only thing I knew how to be.

After months of my life slipping from my control, I grasped it back with a fist cracking vengence. I knew there were choices to make. I’d heard of jilted brides hiding under duvets. Or the hushed histories of women with too many cats. And I wouldn’t become one of them.

And that was when my learning curve began. The whistlestop journey from Coupledom to Singlesville gave me a perspective on my life that, now, I couldn’t function without.

The first thing that I woke up to was the unerring support of my family and friends. My parents, devastated by the decision (not least because of the cost of my mother’s wedding suit), dropped everything. My closest allies never left my side.

How can I explain the relief of knowing friends who have been through the same pain, only to emerge as new and improved versions of their old selves? Like gleaming lights at the end of the darkest tunnel they waited for me to reach them. But best of all were the whisperings of what I thought were happily married women. “I wish I were you!” confided one. “Your life is going to be full of surprises. A new home, new man, new life. How exciting is that?”

This was one of the first things I told my Relate counsellor. The appointment was meant for he and I but he refused to attend so I hogged the limelight instead. Little did I know that fate had dealt me the kindest hand of all.

I remember the first session with a cringe. Perched on a hard-seated sofa I asked “Why did it all go wrong?” Desperate to know what the problem was – he has never told me – clouds obscured my vision. Yet, like the sun burning chinks in the haze, the following weeks became littered with revelations.

The first was all about the C word. Compromise. Instead of not compromising enough, though, I found that I had compromised too much. His steely determination to have his own way, on everything from organising budgets to walking the dog, left me capitulating at every turn. I foolishly thought that this was part of being a couple. My counsellor patiently reminded me that compromising only counts when that’s done as a couple too.

The second was about knowing when to quit. By muffling my alarm bells with woolly determination I believed I was making the relationship work. I’d feel excited about seeing him then be disappointed when we met. I’d inject romance into our lives then be pushed away with a perfunctory peck. It was at this point that my counsellor congratulated me for creating a six year relationship out of something most people would have left for dead after the second week.

And finally I learned not to be scared of the truth. As my counsellor explained, even the dullest relationship can be a comfort from the unknown and that includes being alone. As someone who had always valued her independence I was mortified that I had swapped my hopes and dreams for something little more than safe. And it explained why, on the day that he walked out, I felt such a weight lift off me that I danced around the kitchen with my confused looking dog.

Six year’s worth of jigsaw pieces had slowly fallen into place. Suddenly I didn’t care that the relationship had ended. I was just glad that it did.

Now, my friends tell me that I’m my old self again. Bubbly and confident, funny and sexy. When I tell them that the last few months have affected me deeply, they shock me with their own revelations. Apparently I haven’t been myself since he and I met. I had no idea. Until now.

But the real test of my old self was the day I’d Tipp-Exed out of my diary. My nervousness grew at my uncertain reaction. My cupboard, containing That Dress, became a no-go zone. My best friend announced that she was going to get me drunk. She did an admirable job. It’s not often that I stumble to bed, at 5am, stinking of rum but stumble I did. And before passing out I realised that my wedding night would never have been that much fun.

Which was why seeing that spider scuttle across the bathroom made me giggle. It reminded me that being single had become the best wedding gift of all. My laughter now filled the silence where his rescuing thumps used to be.

But you know what’s most shocking of all? That of all the pain and days when I wish we’d never met, I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s made me a stronger woman and I wouldn’t swap that for the world. I’ll be happy catching my own spiders from now on.

--> Copyright © 2007 - 2010 Contact Cath

 Subscribe in a RSS reader Site developed by alttag.co.uk