IOCHE*

Dear readers, in this piece, I share my personal journey through the end of my two-decade marriage. I explore the mix of emotions that come with such a big life change. From dealing with Facebook memories to understanding new emotions, this is a reflection about moving on, healing, and growth.

Yesterday marked what would have been my wedding anniversary. November 16.

A date etched in memory, not just by the calendar, but by the unyielding reminders of my Facebook memories. These images and posts are fragments of a life once lived, yet they lack the discernment of context, the sensitivity to the altered landscapes of our lives. They don’t know of the heartbreak, the crescendo of anger, the finality of divorce that concluded a two-decade journey.

I've been lost, lately, in the pages of John Koenig's “Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.” It’s a world where language meets emotion in uncharted territories. My vocabulary has flourished, but so has my understanding of the myriad emotions that colour our human condition.

Since yesterday, my mind has been entangled with the word 'IOCHE' – from the Italian “io che,” meaning “I who.” It speaks of the anxiety of being an individual, the solitary journey through life’s complexities. Koenig whispers through his words, “Maybe you’ll never get over the initial shock of existing at all...” and in them, I find a resonance with my own bewilderment, the astonishment of simply being.

In Koenig’s words, I find reflections of my own journey – the realization that “You may never get comfortable living life on your own.” There’s a truth there, a raw, unfiltered acknowledgment of the ongoing shock of existence, the perpetual newcomer in one’s own life, forever trying to catch one's breath.

I’m not sorry my marriage ended.

Yet, as I sift through these digital snapshots, there's an undeniable tinge of sadness. These images capture moments frozen in time – birthdays celebrated, places travelled, Christmas trees trimmed, dinner parties hosted, and the laughter that once filled a beautiful, welcoming dining room. They're relics of a past life, one that no longer exists except in these silent, still frames.

Being a writer, an observer of life, I find it impossible to compartmentalize, to tuck away these memories in some forgotten corner. Sometimes, I fear this introspection is self-absorbed, perhaps even hypocritical. But then, isn’t this the essence of processing, of healing?

Yesterday, there were no tears. But.

But, there was a palpable sense of malaise, an ache that seemed to age my soul, leaving me feeling a century old. It’s a reminder of the physicality of emotions, how deeply they can permeate our being.

This journey, this exploration of love, loss, and growth, transcends mere progression from the past. It involves a deep dive into the myriad emotions that shape our identity. Koenig’s words linger, “...you’re in good company. Ask any one of us, and we’ll tell you: you’re not alone.”

In these phrases, there’s comfort, a gentle reminder that my experiences, while distinct, are part of the collective fabric of human emotions.

Healing, knowing, becoming – they are not just facets of my journey; they are integral parts of the human condition. It’s in this understanding, this acceptance, that I find the strength to embrace each day, to appreciate the complexity of emotions, and to continue writing my story, one word at a time.

*Pronounced “ahy-uh-kee.”