I hate jewelry.
I haven’t worn anything besides my wedding ring in the past six years. I chose the ring myself (with much persuasion by my husband to not get the ring I really wanted). I figured it would be a good ring for having children around, no risk of scratching their pretty faces with my giant rock, no fear of being mugged because of the attention I’d be attracting. My wedding ring is a simple band of white gold with twelve small diamonds across the top. The diamonds tend to face downward because they are heavy and my finger has changed sizes throughout the past six years so it isn’t sized to keep from spinning. Most people do not take the ring as a sure sign that I am married because it is so small and thin and plain.
I have stopped wearing my wedding ring.
I put it back in its box a few weeks after The Big Incident. I felt like wearing that band these past six years had just added to the lies I was trying to convince myself of: that we were a united front, that we were one, that since I was his wife that meant he had to love me, that this would mean we could make it through anything, ‘til death do us part. But I am far from dying, and I am not going back into that abusive relationship. I figured the sooner I start both mentally and physically committing to this difficult adjustment, the better.
But for months now, when I’m driving, or eating, or picking up one of my children, or doing my hair, or blogging, or taking a shower, or folding laundry, or pretty much anything that involves being conscious of your hands, I miss my ring. I feel a gap between my fingers which used to be rubbing at the band constantly. For six years I have hardly ever taken off my ring, and now my fingers mourn their familiar fit and feeling. It feels different when I make a fist, tap my fingers, and pop my knuckles. I’m missing a routine by not having to turn the band upwards to see the diamonds shine.
I knew that I was mourning my marriage, the death of a childhood dream, but it didn’t seem like taking off my ring would mean so much to me. My mother and sister have tried for years to purchase jewelry that I would enjoy wearing. My sister got me a silver watch a few years back and I liked it, but the links were too long and I didn’t ever bother taking it to a shop to have some removed. My mother has gotten me bracelets and necklaces and other things here and there but I just don’t typically like them and choose not to wear them.
Well, on my birthday, in addition to The Birthday Surprise, my mother gave me a beautiful ring with diamonds and a sapphire in it. It is the same style of ring that I’d wanted for my wedding ring before my husband convinced me to buy something more plain (less expensive). I instantly loved it. I thought to wear it on my ring finger in place of my wedding ring because of that intense void that I’ve been feeling, but after a day of this it felt too strange to have something take its place. I am wearing my new ring on my right hand ring finger. It fits perfectly.
I still miss not having anything on my left hand, but I know that I will get through this period of loss and loneliness. I will not jump to have another take its place because it feels better than emptiness. I will not fill myself with the false hope that a new left hand ring finger band would give me. I will mourn the ring entirely, wholeheartedly, and when I am alright again it will feel better to know that I did not just go out and take the first sparkly thing someone gave me to replace it. I’ll have waited. I’ll have been patient with my sadness, and I will know when (…if ever…) the time should be right again.