...My Art And My Divorce...

I've been an artist for as long as I can remember. Painting is my therapy, it's how I process the world around me and all of its beauty and pain. My marriage wasn't always bad; there were good times too. But after a while, my husband started to resent my passion. He'd complain that instead of being home with him, I was holed up in my studio or at art shows. We tried therapy but it didn't change much. Then one day... well, he walked in on me with another man. It wasn't an affair or anything like that... just a quick encounter between old friends from college. But the damage was done. He saw what I was trying to hide for so long, how much I wanted and needed someone else when my husband was around. I'm divorced now. My ex-husband moved out two months ago, and it's been quiet in our big empty house ever since. The silence is deafening sometimes... but I try not to let it get to me. Mostly because of the guilt. The night he left... he took a few things that meant something to us both, including my palette. So now every time I look at my paintings, I see his absence and feel like an asshole for everything I did wrong in our marriage... But you know what? Despite all this pain, there are days when I'm thankful it happened. Because it forced me to confront why I was unhappy and who I really am. And sometimes... I catch myself thinking about that night with my college friend. Maybe it's time to start over again with someone new, or maybe just rediscovering myself as the artist I've always been... But here I am, still struggling with what comes next and trying not to let my past define me. It's hard...