A Month of Firsts by Monique Lester

I’ve always wanted to do what I am doing now but it was never the time. Or maybe I never made the time. I was too busy being a wife, mother, daughter, or some other standard female role and never quite got round to doing what I wanted to do. Or maybe if truth be told, it was also just a good hiding place to be busy with everything but me.

I was a child bride (nineteen), a mother (my best achievement so far), divorced, married again, step-mother, divorced again and lost everything financially all in the space of a decade and a half. That’s a lot of fast living. I then lost my mum far too early to the horror that is breast cancer and in the last six years catapulted myself into financial survival mode. I worked, paid the bills and never really stopped to think.

One evening, in mid December 2010, thanks to a friend of mine and lots of other unimportant detail, I found myself seated next to the man who would ultimately change my life. Where better place to ignite the flames of a life changing liaison than in a random kebab shop in Palmers Green?

On paper my mother would have loved it; a nice Jewish doctor from North West London. In reality, he was starting a messy separation and we were doomed from the start. He is fascinating and bright beyond measure and lit up my mind. He is a very successful man professionally, but for me the multi faceted mind was scintillating. When it comes to being an expert in his field, there are not many better. He is a pilot, a risk taker, exciting and an adventurer. We talked sometimes until the birds started singing as the dawn broke and we knew we would lose the whole of the next day to complete exhaustion. And those were the nights when I knew I loved him.

His divorce mess, background noise, lies and ultimately his cheating led to us parting ways, yet maybe we would never have worked because I need to fly in my own right. Despite his words, I am not sure there would ever have been room for me. Not really. Figuratively speaking perhaps he would have made a small space for me, but in reality, his career, his need to shine his light, left little space for my growth for many reasons. I also know enough to know I would not have changed his core needs; he would have needed to do that himself if he wanted to. And I needed to be in something where I was free to be loved but also free to be me. He could not have had the total all encompassing devotion he seemed to need, from me.

We moved in together but truth be told, there was way too much background noise and he wasn’t calm or ready to give, even if it was going to get its best shot. I knew it in my heart of hearts. I often looked in our study at the wall full of his certificates and awards. And there are many. But ultimately that is not what makes the man. When he came home at night I didn’t see what he did all day, I just saw how he was with me. I saw how he behaved when there was no one to give the ‘shock and awe’ treatment to, when he was being and not doing. I loved the man who came home to me as a man, not the brilliant professional. The memories of him always remind me of Shakira’s song ‘Underneath Your Clothes,’ except I didn’t want him because ‘I had been a good girl!’ A uniform is a uniform, clothes are coverings, but our naked souls all need the same.

Yet ultimately, there was more truth in the eyes of the naked girls staring out from his Playmate of the Year Calendar, than in his words. But what happened in that study, full of the visual signs of his no doubt incredible achievement, was the reawakening of my need for my own intellectual fulfillment.

So, picture this, after much tooing and froing. Me in my stiletto boots, bits of my life in my hands, loading miscellaneous items into my car and then dropping those silvery keys of the home we shared, but was really never mine, onto the grubby carpet. I turned away from the fake picket fence lifestyle, lies, paraphernalia of other women and empty promises, to go make promises to myself that were going to be kept. I suppose I am way too old for fairy stories and I know that proposals and engagement rings are not what bring security and happiness.

I left with nothing. No work, every penny I had was gone, ploughed back into our joint living, no home; camping out in a box room on benefits, and no idea what the future held. Except I knew that along with my indisputable pain and sadness, I saw a freedom and hope I had never known.

Somewhere in me has always been a little voice (as I have learned, maybe not the crazy kind) telling me to get out there and get on with it and now it spoke really loudly. I busied myself on a path of getting into the system. I filled out forms for job seekers’ allowance, housing benefit, and then a light bulb moment hit me one evening. If now was the time when I truly had nothing to lose, then now was the time I have everything to gain. I cried a lot but they were good tears.

Some months before, after he and I had separated physically though not parted emotionally, I had begun a coaching journey with a lady I have a huge amount of respect for, Sharon Simpson, The Reinvention Diva. The sessions were for me and ultimately helped me to realign with myself and decide where I wanted to go, without losing myself to anyone else. I am on a journey and this man was not able to be the one to accompany me on it. I can see now that I could not offer him the instant gratification of a fully integrated female support system. I would have needed too much time for me to make it comfortable for him and yet I knew my days of being a rescuer were over. So something ultimately had to give. After I discovered the cheating, the trust was destroyed but had it not been, there would still have been an uphill struggle. I have for sure, learned about having a pivotal love for someone, which ultimately would have needed a lot of work to make it happen and so maybe never could. We could have had it all, in the words of Adele, but also maybe not.

Sharon drew out my goals and aims on her whiteboard, and I photographed it on my iPhone. So one day, at my laptop in my little box room, with that picture on my laptop and a whole load of dreams, I ventured where I had always wanted to go, and applied for a part time degree course. I created a personal statement and asked my son to read it and critique it and it worked.

The next week I went to the interview and stood in the building that I am growing to love for all it represents. And a couple of weeks later, there I was. Sitting in a lecture, on my first ever degree course in Psychology, as a woman in her forties. I utterly love every minute of it.

Of course this is not an easy path. But it is one of my better life decisions. The film ‘Educating Rita’ comes to mind. It has been interesting watching the reactions of those close to me; those who were worried about whether I could cope with the work, those who reacted with joy. But ultimately this is my journey and I am getting a lot of love and encouragement along the way.

It’s interesting being a posh sounding girl at the Jobcentre every two weeks. Juggling student finance forms and studying. I will need to move to a more permanent base. I need part time work so that I can afford not to live on beans and jacket potatoes. But looking at what I have manifested so far I know it will all come.

So I dedicate this post to the man who opened my eyes and indeed my heart, even if he couldn’t let me see back into the windows to his soul.