I'm here, but I am not alone. I am here with God and my children. My son and my daughter have no idea where we are. They do not know how we ended up living out of an extended stay hotel. I have the answers for them in the future, even if the question is never asked. This is my first Thanksgiving without my spouse. It hurts. I feel defeated from allowing my past self to have my current and two kids going through this. My codependency on my spouse was too intense, and I am finally breaking free. 

Photo by Kiy Turk on Unsplash

It’s been one week since I packed up multiple garbage bags filled with belongings for my two children and me. My heart was enraged in pain from my husband’s words. Tears streamed down my face. As I readjusted the purple microfiber towel that was on my head. My husband of almost eight years professed with his chest and back turned that he was seeing another woman. 

 “Go in the house and wash yo’ ass, chile.” 

That’s what some of the black parents and grandparents used to yell at me and the other children that were still outside running around in our yards during the heart of the summer in southeast Louisiana.