When I separated from my husband eight years ago, I moved out of the house. This was my choice. As the marriage deteriorated past the point of repair, there was never really a question about the fact that I would be the one to leave. The house was owned by both of us, both of our names on the mortgage, but I never really felt that the home was mine. I always felt as if I was living in someone else’s space. For the last 2 years that I lived there, I didn’t even have a bedroom in the place. I was not sleeping in the master bedroom (for obvious reasons). My son was away at university so I would bounce back and forth between his room and the basement. I had no say in the matter when it came to upkeep, renovation or decorating decisions, and eventually no interest in any of it. The home itself was nothing but a source of anxiety for me. When the time came, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

When the kids are in town they stay at the house. If we have plans, I will pick them up there, or drop them off, maybe even come in and wait for them for a while. This used to be an incredibly difficult thing for me to do, but over the years it has become easier.

This week I have agreed to look after my daughter’s dog while she is staying at the house. She, my son and my ex have gone on a road trip. This left me spending long hours alone in the house. Some of the emotions that came over me yesterday were expected, but some surprised me. I felt a little melancholy and nostalgic for the happy memories, but the longer I was there I began to feel anger. The kind of anger I have not felt in a long time.

While sitting with this anger, trying to figure it out, I realised it was self-loathing, regret and shame all rearing their lovely little heads again. I have worked long and hard in recovery to understand and reconcile these emotions, but apparently they have been hiding out in the nooks and crannies of the house.  The house that I never really had an emotional connection to, had this ability to jettison me back in time, to a very dark place.

Although the emotions are no less real, the difference now is that I can see them for what they are. I see through the darkness and know it cannot control me. I know I will come out of it. I am able to feel these feelings without turning to alcohol to numb them. I feel the pain, but I am strong enough to get through it. If I am struggling, I know to ask for help.

Recovery is an ongoing process. We are never “done”. As life presents challenges, we do our best to face them head on. Hiding from our feelings, stuffing them down and letting them fester will only lead to more suffering. While it takes all of our courage some days to face the difficult emotions, the end result is worth it.