Dear Diary,
Today the echo of my former husbands words still haunts me: Shes all yours, Emma. I tried to interject, Hold onwhat are you even talking about? and he just laughed, Exactly, you dont get it! You act like the clueless, wellmeaning saint who has no idea whats happening. I wondered if he thought Id just stand by and watch everything crumble.
Sometimes life feels almost perfect: a modest income, a loving family, decent friends, and a boyfriend who truly cares for me. Yet, hidden beneath that pictureperfect surface, theres a tiny, nagging irritantlike a grain of sand in an otherwise smooth glass of tea. The more I try to ignore it, the more it gnaws at me, whispering that I should shove it far away, out of sight, out of mind, so I never have to endure its sour taste, its offcolour voice.
In my world, that irritant turned out to be a person, someone I once trusted deeply. My best friend, Ivy, has been by my side since nursery. For years everything seemed fine, until after university when we stepped into adulthood and our circles drifted apart. Perhaps Ivys career never took off the way mine did, and a quiet jealousy seeped in, finding the strangest outlet.
At firstmaybe the first two or even five yearsit didnt bother me, but then it started to wear thin. As the saying goes, water wears away the stone. It got to the point where Ivy would comment on my clothes as if she were some fashion police.
Emma, that dress isnt suitable for a new mother, she said, eyes narrowed. You could buy it, but youll need to lose a few stones firstby the time youre ready, itll be out of style a hundred times over. Better stick with that little suit we saw earlier.
Id just stepped out of the fitting room, looking at Ivy, feeling a slow boil rising inside me. Can you stop throwing your nasty little remarks at me? I snapped. What are yousome sort of style inspector?
What little remarks? Ivy retorted, eyes wide. Like not for a postpartum figure, you need to get yourself in shape first Are you the fashion police now?
Ivy, you invited me to help you pick something. Im being honest. If you only wanted to hear it looks great, take it, you should have said so from the start.
What are you saying? That I shouldnt be so toxic? That I should stick to some invisible code of normality? she shot back, exasperated.
Stopstopstop, Im not following you at all, I snapped again. Do you think Ill just sit here and let you dump all this negativity on me? I wont be your naïve doormat for you to vent on.
I told her, firmly, that enough was enough. Id take the dress anyway, and I stormed out, leaving her frozen like a statue. She seemed more upset about the onlookers noticing our spat than about losing me as a friend. She stood there for a minute, as if weighing something, then, with a shrug, walked toward the exit of the Westfield shopping centre.
Since then I havent called Ivy, nor have I tried to mend things, because I finally understood where that sudden animosity had sprouted. Whether she ever sees it or not, I cant change her. All I can do is live the life I think is best.
The petty jabs about helping relatives, my partners involvement in household chores, and especially the fuss over our little Lucys entry into nursery have all quieted down. My motherinlaw, upon hearing about the row with Ivy, sighed and muttered something about eventually having to shake the leeches off her neck. My own mother said the same. Then the oddities began.
At Lucys nursery, a new caretaker, without any warning, started echoing Ivys words, insisting Lucy showed signs of a troubling behaviour that might indicate a serious diagnosis. She urged us to take her to a neurologist and psychiatrist, preferably privately, to catch any issues early.
My, they just love to label a child, my motherinlaw complained later, Weve never had an autistic or schizophrenic person in the family. Still, I agreed to a checkup just to put my conscience at ease. The doctor said, Good youre here early; we can catch any problems now and help Lucy adjust without major hurdles.
Thats when Ivys earlier suggestion resurfacedshed mentioned a neurologist half a year ago, saying Lucy seemed off. Back then I brushed it off, thinking Ivy was being toxic and mean, but now I see how that comment turned out.
Soon after, my mother and motherinlaw started making odd demands, reminding me constantly that the grandmothers werent really caring for Lucy, but rather for my wallet. As soon as extra expenses appeared, they vanished one by one, offering empty apologies and citing busy schedules whenever I asked for help with childcare.
Then my husband dropped the bomb: he wanted a divorce.
Emma, I promised to stand by you through thick and thin, but this constant focus on Lucys health and the endless juggling leaves no room for the rest of us. I cant go on, he said.
In a few short months our oncehappy family fell apart. I took Lucy and moved into the flat my grandmother had left me. That sparked a fresh fight with my own mother, who claimed the flat should stay available for visiting relatives.
You know itd be awkward for me if you live there, she protested. Family should support each other in tough times, and yet you
Id heard that a hundred times. Ivy, observing from the sidelines, kept insisting that everyone was only getting onesided help from me. She hadnt been releasing toxic comments at all; she was trying, in her limited way, to open my eyes to what was happening at home.
Now my mother, as if nothing had changed, is trying to rev up old grievances, even after repeatedly refusing to help my daughter during her hardest moments. She worries less about where Lucy will live with her grandmother and more about where to park visiting relatives so they dont stumble in the mud of her house.
Ivy, for all her flaws, was right about one thingshe saw the mess. I, on the other hand, was blind. If only I had listened to her sooner.
Eventually, after settling into my grandmothers flat, I gathered flowers, a bottle of champagne, and a box of chocolates, hoping my gifts wouldnt be tossed back at me at the doorstep. I went to Ivy to try and patch things up.
Ivy, please hear me out. Dont shut the door on me straight away, I pleaded as she opened the door, letting me and my gentlemans kit inside.
Tears were shed, promises made, and vows spoken that I would never again doubt a dear friends intentions. I finally understood who truly wished me well and who only thought of themselves, fleeing when the going got tough.
We managed to reconcile, though Ivy warned me that history might repeat itself if I slipped. Im determined not to let that happen.
My exhusband later tried to make amends, but I turned him down flat; I refuse to rebuild what he shattered.
This is all Ivys doing, turning you against your family, my exhusband had once declared. The same line was echoed by my mother and even my former motherinlaw, oblivious that the bed we all lie in is of our own making, and Ivy had nothing to do with it.
So here I am, penning down the chaos, the hurt, and the small victories. Perhaps tomorrow will bring a calmer mind, but for now Ill keep moving forward, one step at a time.
