Jessica Woodville | Memoir & Musings

I had no idea what I was walking into today.

The negative self-talk started early, reminding me that I wasn’t really part of this friend group anymore. Another side of me pushed back, remembering that some of these people had been my closest friends since eighth grade. We’ve all come such a long way, especially in the last ten years—I mean, we’re in our forties now, for goodness’ sake. But trauma doesn’t care about logic. It sneaks in, whispering that I didn’t belong.

I changed outfits multiple times, letting self-doubt and old insecurities seep in. I kept thinking about the me from 19 years ago, when the event which shall not be named here happened—the me who was called awful things, who was made to feel small and ashamed by my abuser. Some of the people at this memorial may still talk to him, but they don’t know what they don’t know. That’s part of why I chose to publish my memoir under a pseudonym—to protect my daughters from the weight I carried for so long, at least until they’re old enough to understand. But I also wanted to protect others who were part of my journey. Because as much as the past shaped us, the shadows of it shouldn’t keep anyone from stepping into the light of the future.

And yet, one of those shadows found me today, though it wasn’t as dark as it used to be.

I ran into my former mother-in-law from my first marriage. She was already emotional, having lost another person close to her—someone who could have been her daughter-in-law, the mother of one of her grandchildren. Without her saying a word, I understood at least one thing that was weighing on her heart. She had physically lost someone she considered a daughter, and in a way, she had emotionally lost another.

We haven’t spoken much over the years. Like I said, that divorce was messy. Things were done that can’t be taken back. But what we can do is move forward, do better. While we are all on better terms now, we’ve grown apart.

Looking at her avoiding eye contact as she fought back the tears, I knew what she needed to hear.

I told her she will always be like a mother to me and reminded her of a memory I will always cherish.

When I was 20, I told her a story from my childhood—how my mom left when I was just a baby. The day my dad realized she was gone, he found me alone, soaked in my crib, red-faced and exhausted from crying for hours. He picked me up, but there was no one to comfort him as he held his abandoned daughter.

When I shared that story with my mother-in-law all those years ago, she pulled me into her arms and rocked me in her wooden chair. And that was the only time I remember being rocked by a mother.

And then she did something I never expected. She apologized.

She acknowledged that knowing what she does now, she would have done things differently during the divorce and after.

I told her “We don’t know, what we don’t know. We were all just doing the best we could.” but inside, inside I wanted to sob.

I don’t even know how I stayed grounded in that moment. It was enough to almost send me into a full-on health flare-up. But I stayed present. I sat with her, hugged her. And as I straightened up, I saw two of my friends walk in—ones I’m still close to. “K—-” being one of them (mentioned in my memoir).

My former mother-in-law saw me wave and told me to go make the rounds. I hugged her again and promised to stop by for coffee soon.

And that’s when K & P became the saving grace of the whole darn week without evening knowing it.

They pulled me out of the heaviness of my last conversation and into something lighter—but not in a superficial way. After about half an hour, we were talking about life. REAL life. And it reminded me of that moment in the Sex and the City movie when Samantha talks about avoiding mirrors.

They were the mirror I needed.

They reminded me of what I need to do for this next chapter of my life. More importantly, they reminded me that I don’t have to do it alone.

I walked into this day unsure if I even belonged. I walked out knowing that no matter how much things have changed, some people will still show up for you. And that I can keep showing up, too. For the people who matter. And for myself.

And for now, that’s enough.

P.s. An old friend from high school totally bought a copy of my memoir and officially has the first signed copy! That was an absolute highlight of the week, month, year, as scary as it was. We’ll see AFTER she’s done reading it what she thinks. 😬