When I said I hadn’t posted anything online in a while, that wasn’t entirely true. A couple of years ago, I started posting on a Tumblr account—somewhat anonymously. I didn’t attach my name to anything, and only a handful of people had the link. Mostly, I transcribed entries from my paper journals. I did this to create a record of what my children and I were going through as my then-husband spiraled from untreated PTSD and undiagnosed Bipolar II disorder.
Despite the chaos of that time frame, I can’t label my ex-husband as a terrible person. At the end of the day, I still trust him with our children. I know that if I were in absolute dire straits, he would help as much as he could. He had a mental health crisis and spiraled. The person he was during that time isn’t truly who he is at his core. And I can’t paint a full picture of our relationship’s demise without acknowledging my own role in it. But that’s a story for another post, or two.
To summarize: Did we have our differences? Absolutely. Were there underlying issues beyond our control? Again, absolutely. We officially separated at the end of 2022, but honestly, I think we both knew it was over before that.
Which brings me to the real reason I started writing this post: brutal honesty. Not just about events but also about my part in them—the chaos I contributed to, the miscommunication, and the misconceptions I carried from my younger years.
Whew, that’s a mouthful. But let me try to explain, maybe poorly.
A lot of my mental health progress is due to traditional methods: medication, therapy, diagnoses, and even a “grippy-sock vacation.” But more than anything, I credit my education. I went back to school, earned my Bachelor of Science in Social Sciences, and almost completed an Associate’s in Funeral Services. I officially graduated at 40—which is kind of bullshit because I finished my last courses before my birthday, but whatever. And while I’m still bitter about the credit hours that didn’t transfer from Funeral Services to Social Sciences, I’m grateful for the journey it took to get here. It just took forever.
And while my degree may not impress many people, I need you to understand: I’m a high school dropout. I got my GED the same day my oldest daughter was born.
So here I am, back at the keyboard, no longer burying my thoughts in trash bins. The journey that brought me here has been long, messy, and filled with more detours than I care to admit. But it’s my journey, and I’m owning every step of it—the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.
Growth and understanding aren’t linear, nor are they a destination. Instead, it’s a continuous process of learning, unlearning, relearning, and then piecing it all together, slowly and with the preparedness of knowing that you may have to rip it all apart again to make it fit better later on. It’s a hard process and no one should have to go it alone or feel like they’re alone while they’re doing it. So, here I am, sharing my take on the process with anyone who wants to see it.
I’m no longer just surviving. I’m beginning to thrive. And while that might sound cliché, it’s my truth. Writing is no longer something I fear; it’s something I embrace, even when it forces me to confront the parts of myself I’d rather forget.
This blog is a dialogue with my former self, a testament to the growth that comes from chaos and the clarity that follows confusion. I don’t know where this path will lead, but for the first time in a long time, I’m excited to find out.
Reconstructing Cori 