Some time back, I said I was going to have a party when I got divorced and it was going to be a sock party, well, it happened.
The entire premise of this party is based on the Harry Potter series, which I love. I’ve read the series multiple times and find the lessons and values in the series to be wonderful. In summation, you stand up for what you know is right, even when there is danger in your path, even when it’s difficult, even when you may lose friends over it, and even if a strong political type group says otherwise. You do the right thing.
In the series, Dobby is a house elf, essentially a slave. When Lucious Malfoy unknowingly give Dobby a sock, Harry’s doing, Dobby is freed. Dobby was not allowed to wear clothes, proper clothes anyway, as a house elf, read “slave” there, or actually, whatever you feel would be appropriate.
I was in a relationship that was mentally abusive and controlling. I already had problems with depression and low self-esteem, which made me an easy target. Some things happened to me because someone did them to me. Someone wanted to be manipulative and mentally abusive to me, but some things happened to me because I allowed them to happen because of the depression and low self-esteem. If I would have stood up for myself a lot earlier, I wouldn’t have gone through half of what I did, but I didn’t think I was worth it.
I felt trapped, even more so when I was separated and trying to get a divorce because the treatment was worse than it had been before. I felt I was outright being terrorized and was scared to death. For a time, I literally carried my phone and keys with me everywhere, even inside the house, so I could call 911 at the drop of a hat or make a dash out the door and to my car, if I had to.
I identified with Dobby from Harry Potter. I wasn’t physically kept in the situation I was, but I was kept there mentally. It was difficult to get away from that, very difficult, as such, when the divorce was over, I wanted to celebrate the break of that tie. I felt as if I had been freed. I was no longer legally bound to someone who made me feel as if I wasn’t a person. This person no longer knew where I lived. I no longer owed anything to this person, nothing. I no longer had to be scared.
I came up with the idea of a sock party from Dobby’s story. Dobby got a sock; I wanted socks. I have a very nice friend who loves Harry Potter as much, or more, as I do and she organized the party. She has also been there for me throughout the entire divorce. She was one of the first people I told about it and was there during pivotal times. She stayed with me and kept me away from home the entire day my ex was moving out of the house, and outright taking things he shouldn’t, but that’s over now. She helped me move. She even helped me scrape lighthouse wall-paper off of one of the bathroom walls.
My friend was nice enough to make reservations at a restaurant I liked and send out invitations for my party. She even made a cake. The cake was a gluten-free Funfetti cake. It’s not easy to find gluten-free cakes.
I had a good group of friends and co-workers show up to celebrate my freedom and they brought socks with them. I ended up with quite a few socks to start my new life out with.
As you can see, I got socks of all assortments. I got Doctor Who socks, awesome. I got long socks. I got cat socks. I got pink socks, I got red socks. I even got cactus socks. I’m calling the magenta, grey, and black socks my sexy socks.
A pair of the socks even came with a naughty present and I’m still not sure what that thing is, but it was a good laugh and laughs are appreciated.
I got enough socks to last me near two weeks, obviously, I’m going to have to wait until it cools down to start showing all these socks off. It’s just too hot right now. South Carolina, and the southeast in general, is pretty brutal during the summer.
We had fun. We laughed. They could hear us downstairs, which was awesome. The waitresses wanted to join our party. I admit, it was kind of a nerdy way to celebrate my divorce, but I’m kind of nerdy and I liked the symbolism.
I realize that not everyone would be thrilled about the idea of my celebrating getting divorced, or anyone celebrating getting divorced for that matter. Look here, when you’re in a situation and you feel like you’ve been controlled, terrorized, and abused, celebration is in order when it’s over. I don’t care what type of situation it was, a marriage, a parental house, an imprisonment, a toxic friendship, whatever, if you can breathe a giant sigh of relief when it’s over, it’s worth celebrating even if fundamentalist fuddy-duddies say otherwise.
I’m free now and these are the socks I can wear in my new life.
Take that, Lucious.