Cycling Through the Pain

The thing about being deeply wounded is that, just when you think you've healed, that it's safe to remove the band-aids you've relied on to keep the wound from getting infected, something occurs, or a memory is triggered...and suddenly you're right back where you were. Struggling for air and drowning in despair.
I should know.
It has been more than three years. In that time, I've gone from living minute-to-minute, to day-to-day, to week-to-week.
And yet, one thoughtless comment from my husband (husband for the time being. I'm thinking of putting a divorce lawyer on speed dial...) and I'm right back at D-Day. Feeling blind-sided. And wondering whether I'm going to survive the blow.
Admittedly, some days I'm more fragile than others. I'm missing my mom a lot lately, who died shortly after D-Day and who had always been my greatest supporter.
I'm feeling somewhat adrift in my career. I'm coping with kids who are growing increasingly independent...and hormonal.
So even without the backdrop of a marriage marked by betrayal, I might be feeling somewhat vulnerable.
But it doesn't take much to re-open the gaping wound. A thoughtless comment. A movie in which infidelity is romanticized. Song lyrics. My husband's eyes lingering a bit too long on another woman. A friend's shiny new boyfriend...which only makes my fixer-upper seem all the less appealing.
I try and remind myself that life is like this. That healing (nor life) is not a straight trajectory to bliss. That we go round and round, sometimes up, sometimes down. Mostly somewhere in between.