I desperately need a vacation. But not just any vacation. I don't need palm trees and laying on the beach. I don't need a mountain cabin beside a babbling brook. I'm not talking cruise or a week of doing nothing but sipping margaritas and reading novel after novel after novel. All great options, yes, but not what I need.
What I really need is a week in which I have full freedom and space to just cry and scream and feel everything that comes with acknowledging what doesn't work in your life and attempting to work through it. Whoever said that breaking up is hard to do wasn't kidding. It's awful, even when you know it's the right thing, when you know that the path you've been traveling is hurting, not helping. And I want quite desperately to process it all, to grieve properly and fully, to honor this part of my life as fully as I can before taking the next step, but there's a job to show up for, a son who needs to know his mama is still devoted to him, laundry to wash and fold, dishes to clean, a dog to show at least some level of attention to (sorry about that, Mojo), a garden to tend, etc., etc. At the end of the day, there is no time for tears or mourning. It's time for collapsing into bed, attempting to get some degree of rest, only to wake and repeat the cycle another day.
What's odd for me is that I want to mourn this. I want to feel the pain and process it. I want to hash out within me all of the gritty emotions that led me to this place and learn from the mistakes I made. I want to face those demons and come out stronger for the fight. I want to really get to know me, to discover what I like and don't like, what suits me and what doesn't. It's not a reinvention I'm after - it's figuring out who the hell I am in the first place.
So I need a vacation, some time to sit by myself and let it all out, to cry until there are no more tears. And then I want to dry my eyes, stand up tall and emerge with a new energy and renewed sense of self.
After all, that's what vacation is all about, isn't it?
