Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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When I woke up yesterday morning I had another panic attack. I did the exercises Greyson taught me the night before, and once I was able to pull myself out of it, I got angry. Angry that Will had hurt me once again, and angry at myself for letting him. I'd gone back and forth all morning on whether I should call him, my thumb hovering over his contact, but I kept asking myself if it would change anything. Would hearing my voice soften his behavior, and if so, would it make me feel better?
No matter how many times I reminisce and romanticize the good times, it won't change Will from the villain he's become back into the prince I thought he was. Greyson is right. What kind of man sleeps with his assistant behind his wife's back for months, kicks her out of their home so he can move said assistant in, then not only files for divorce without notice, but cuts her off financially through a text message? We were together seven years. We were husband and wife. Aren't I at least worth a conversation?
In the end I decided not to call, because I would have been doing it out of heartbreak and anger, looking for empathy from him I'm not going to get. Will thrives off power and control, and a phone call from me after letting me know he's done with me will only boost his ego. He'll be cold and distant and say something to hurt my feelings, and I'll get upset, but it won't change anything. I'll still be single and broke in North Carolina and he'll be rich and shacking up with Chelsea in New York. I'll only end up disappointed in myself for letting him get to me and I don't want to be that person anymore. I want to be positive, happy-go-lucky Delaney, not gloom-and-doom, black cloud Delaney.
I promised myself I'd let him go, and in order to do that and move on with my life, I need to let go of all of it. Our relationship. The happy memories. His betrayal. The blaming myself. The heartbreak. The hopelessness. And most importantly, the anger – toward Will and myself – because holding onto to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Will and Chelsea aren't losing sleep over what they did, so why should I?
Why should I be drowning in misery when they don't care at all?
So, instead of festering in my rage, I spent my Sunday being productive. Greyson had been incredible with me, and his words of encouragement helped, but the light of day didn't change my situation, and I needed to come up with a plan sooner than later, and I was determined to do it on my own.
First, I had to figure out health insurance because by law, I have to have it. No minimum wage job will offer me benefits, so unless The South Grove Post needs a journalist, or decides to start a fashion magazine overnight and needs a columnist, minimum wage is all I'm qualified for.
I need an actual job; one that pays me with a check I don't cringe at every time I open it. Not that I'm not grateful for what I have – I really am – because the Montessori School didn't have to help me out at all. They could have told my mother no when she asked if I could assist her for the summer, but they didn't. They gave me an opportunity to earn some money and gifted me the chance to escape the darkness in my head for a few hours a day. I'll always be grateful to them for that. So, I can continue to assist with my mother until I find something else, but some of the more uptight parents have been questioning my qualifications, so I think my working days are numbered.
