What’s in a name? 

I have been purging like crazy around the house. Gotta tell you, it is liberating. 

It is almost like a light suddenly went off in my head and I was free. 

Like I have said before, divorce is not easy. Regardless if you started it. Regardless if you are happy now.

So much comes with it. Even though I can look back and evaluate some of the events and feelings I had, and know that everything happens for a reason, the transition from what you know to the unknown is scary, stressful and new. 

There are times of adjustment. It has been nearly a year since the divorce was finalized. I feel so eager to move on. 

Bags of clothes, not worn in years. Why was I keeping them? I bought them because I thought they were cute, but not for me. I was trying to live somebody elses life. 

Seriously, this is how I felt when putting on dresses or pant suits…


But, I came across my wedding outfit. You see I ran off to Hawaii when I was 23 years old and married a Marine I met on online that I barely knew. 

I have always been bold. But, I think I took this journey because it was to teach me a lesson about life, family and love. 

So, after 13 years, I put that outfit on, was curious to see how it fit. The waist was a little loose. 


But, more importantly, that musty and dingy white outfit went into the trash pile. And it felt great. 

All over the house I was purging, ran out of garbage bags, boxes and energy, but I wanted to keep going. 

I found some things I no longer wanted or needed. I found some things I had forgotten about. 

I found a box of rubber stampers that I completely forgot existed. 

In the box of stampers was a bunch of dried out stamp pads and one stamper of my first name. 


I remember growing up, hating my name. Mellow yellow, mellon ball, smelly melly. 

I hated it. I wanted to change it, and to me the most logical name was “Jeremy”, because that was the popular song by Pearl Jam at the time. 

I was always so pissed that my name was never common enough to be on key rings, pencils and plastic cups. But, my mom found me this stamper. 

I didn’t change my name. The thought fleeted me after awhile I guess. I grew to understand my name better. Those who called me Mel, were close friends. Melanie was the formal name, and if you chose to call me Mel and I didn’t think we were close enough, I was usually offended. 

My name is mine. It fits me, and I no longer cringe when I hear it. 

Letting go of parts of my past one day at a time. I am completely ready for this new journey now. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s