Gosh I am loving the relaxed holiday vibe now I’ve pushed through the anxiety. My writing head is back on and the creative juices are flowing beautifully.

This blog has been a long time in the pipeline, I started forming it in my mind weeks ago when I had one horribly sleepless night. Sleepless, I later discovered, because I found my night medication laying on the table about three days later. It’s not called bipolar brain for nothing.

Anyway, my lack of sleep got me thinking, and the seed for the blog, “Things I would never have done if my husband was still alive” was sown.

Now don’t get me wrong. I loved my husband, and in fact always will. But I’ve made no secret of the fact that our marriage was extremely difficult at times, and that he liked to keep me controlled. So consequently, over the last nearly ten years, as I have had to learn to forge my own way, I have discovered myself, and ways of doing things that previously would not have been smiled upon. So I thought it might be fun to compile a little list.

On a serious note, I would never have been able to go back to uni and get my foundation degree. Certainly not while volunteering to get my work experience. The idea would have been dismissed immediately, probably on the grounds that we couldn’t afford it. But additionally, improving myself was generally frowned upon. I believe it made him feel insecure.

On a more frivolous note, I would, in no way on earth, have numerous piercings. And do you know what? I adore the fourteen coloured studs in my right ear. I have frequently described my right ear as my best feature, so much am I in love with it. While I can’t attribute meaning to each piercing, many of them represent a time in my life where my emotional pain caused an expression of physical pain. They are part and parcel of my story and I totally embrace them. But my husband, given he nearly lost the plot when I had my ears pierced in my mid twenties (just one in each lobe – nothing weird) and promptly sent me to Coventry, would probably have disowned me for the current state of my pinna.

In a similar way, I absolutely wouldn’t be tattooed if I was still married. Some of my widowed friends have memorial tattoos. My husband would turn in his grave if I opted for remembering him in such a fashion. I imagine, if he’s watching over me he’s probably furious that I’ve been inked at all. But as I love to remind anyone who happens to have an opinion – my body, my choice. And when you have experienced the kind of relationship where your body was apparently the property of your spouse, freedom is to be cherished, choice to be celebrated.

I’m going to very blunt now. Well to be fair, I’m guessing by now dear reader, you’re used to that, but just by way of warning in case anybody new has stumbled upon the musings from the Pink Palace for the first time. For twenty years I was with a man who appeared to have no sex drive whatsoever. Neither did he have any sense of responsibility for addressing the intimate needs of his wife (that would be me). So I guess it’s hardly surprising, that after many years of frustration, I have become a little more active and experimental in the bedroom (or wherever else for that matter). And I could probably name a number of sexual activities that have been experienced on my journey of discovery but I’m going to concentrate on one – oral. I’m 47 and until two years ago I had never given or received oral sex. And I have to say, I’m rather happy to have added said acts to my repertoire. Despite my husband’s protestations that it was horribly unhygienic, I’ve yet to have been caused any ill by it. On the contrary I believe it to be rather splendid and utterly beneficial to wellbeing.

Returning to more serious matters, I believe wholeheartedly that my son would still be living at home and not in foster care. If his dad was still alive it is unlikely that he and I would have experienced mental breakdown at the same time and I feel sure that we would have had more support from my husband’s family even if we had. And we’d have been the tight little unit we always were. I often reflect on how desperately disappointed my husband would have been that I couldn’t cope, actually given his shocking misunderstanding of mental illness he would probably more likely be furious with me. That was his usual approach to my depression.

So to lighten the mood again a little, I think it’s safe to say that I wouldn’t have had pink hair. Or purple, blue, black, blackberry, red, or even the lovely bleach blonde look I’m currently sporting. It is lighthearted, but when you’ve been told how you can have your hair styled for so many years, it’s a revelation to discover pink! When I ditched my pink hair at the end of last year I felt wholly torn. Could Pink Angel continue to exist without pink hair? I concluded that Angel will always be pink at heart and maybe at some point in the future I will revisit pink hair. But the key thing is, I have the choice. I’m free to have my hair as I please.

And that’s powerful. I wish I had the insight when I was married that I have now. I wish I’d known there’s another way. I have merely highlighted a handful of ways my life was controlled. There were more, so many more. And I wish I knew I had the choice to walk away.

Thank you for reading.

👼🏻