The Trevi fountain in Rome is one of the most iconic fountains in the world. Ten million people come every year to stand in front of this wonderous piece of art, take pictures, throw their three coins over their left shoulder, and make their wishes. Legend has it that the first coin you toss will bring you back to Rome, the second will bring you a love affair and the third will bring you marriage - I came back to Rome this week.
Fifteen years ago, I stood at this fountain with my eldest daughter and my husband. “Smile”, my friend and former Au pair called out to me. I wanted to run, but instead, I did what she told me to do: I smiled like a good girl. On the outside, we looked like a beautiful family having a magical moment during our vacation to Rome: My daughter was a beautiful three-year-old in a knee-length flowing cream silk dress with bold green flowers, my husband was tall and handsome, my second daughter, with her gorgeous cherub cheeks, was asleep in the stroller to the side, and I was the pretty mommy - still so thin even after two babies.
I was living the life I had wished for: Living and traveling internationally, a beautiful family, and financial success - a life so different from the one I grew up in. I was an American living in Dublin, Ireland with a successful high-end children’s clothing shop. A shop where anyone who was anybody, like Ail Hewson (Bono’s wife) and countless other celebrities came to shop. We lived in the hippest area, had the finest clothing, and I was able to fly my family around the world on gorgeous vacations.
But underneath the glamour of my outside persona, I was exhausted twisting myself into a pretzel trying to be the perfect wife and mother. I worked six days a week with my children in my arms as the financial breadwinner, and when I arrived home, I became the cook, the cleaner, and the everything to everyone. On top of it all. at the moment of our “Instagramable” picture in front of the Trevi fountain, I had just lost a baby and found out that my husband had cheated on me.
My shop had made me a pillar in the community, where all that needed a place to cry and feel heard went, but the difficulties and complete lack of support in my marriage had beaten me down and caused me to hold my feelings tightly to my heart. I had no one to go to, not only in Dublin but also in America. So, I stayed like the good girl I had been taught to be and tried to fix myself and my marriage, until finally seven years ago, I finally broke and found the courage to leave my husband.
It has been a long and difficult seven years, like pulling off wallpaper in a 100-year-old home. I have had to tenderly pull off each layer, ideas of life, love, parenting, and family slapped on by the generations before, to free myself and my children. Most times I had no idea where I was going or if I would ever find an end to the uncovering. With each layer pulled it seemed as though another part of my life was undone: my work became few and far between, old relationships ended, and my kids needed to move schools. I continued to walk forward and pray for guidance as to which way I should go. Things began to steady but I was losing faith that life would ever bring me some carefree moments as I had once had. So when an Italian friend reached out to me by text this past spring and wrote “Come to Italy!” I took it as a sign that this was our way forward - even though my bank account said no, that this was my Dolce Vita!
“Wow, Italy. How Exciting”, I would hear people say, but in the days and weeks before I left, I could only feel fear and trepidation for this vacation. I had been guided by the Universe before - what layer would be taken this time? I thought. But, then I gently reminded myself that with each layer removed, I was finding the real me and I was happier than I had ever been.
We arrived in Rome with a plan of going north, but my eldest daughter got sick. Quickly my friend offered her place and I cancelled our train tickets to Florence. I felt afraid and wanted to return back home. Maybe I had messed up. Maybe my daughter getting sick was a sign that I was putting my children in danger.
We laid low for a few days. Although it was incredibly kind of my friend to offer us a place to stay, Rome was in the middle of a heat wave, and the pain of being pent up in a dark and stuffy apartment made me angry enough to get out and get on with life. I gathered my senses and my children and set off to explore the eternal city around us. Eventually, I found myself once again at the Trevi Fountain—fifteen years after my first coin toss.
“Come on Momma, let’s take a picture.”, my eldest daughter called out to me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I could not control what was happening inside. “You ok, Momma?” She asked, her eyes searching mine for understanding. I did not know what was happening, so I pushed my tears away, took her hand, and lied once more, “I’m okay.”
We pushed our way through the hundreds of others clicking their phones and smiling and we took our spot. My daughter reached her arm out for a selfie. “Would you like me to take your picture?” A man offered. We handed the stranger the phone and I could feel a wash of joy come over me as he snapped our photo. Then tears came again.
A shout from a fellow American traveler to her husband pushed me out of my head, “You ruined everything!” I laughed, knowing all too well that feeling. “Momma, do have some coins?” I grabbed my purse and pulled out my money, only nine small coins, three for each child. “Momma, what about you?”, my children cried. “I’m okay,” I said softly.
My children threw their coins into the Trevi Fountain, and we quickly left the crowded area. We found a small, quiet street away from the throngs of tourists, where my children discovered a charming little souvenir shop. I stayed back, waiting across the street, grateful for the peace and quiet. In that moment of stillness, I looked up at the buildings. The mid-day sun illuminated the yellow facades and the open windows above. A gentle breeze began to move around me and I could hear church bells starting their call. I had the intense feeling that I was in a movie and it was the last scene where the heroine has found inner peace. I couldn’t explain it but I knew deep inside that I was at the end. But mentally, I felt confused, the end?
And then I realized yes, in most movies, the heroin is complete and happy only when she meets her man. That’s certainly what I thought when I met my husband, it was so romantic; he was from Ireland, and I was the American girl visiting a new country and looking for a new beginning. Finally, I would be loved and live happily ever after.
But my life had been a better version, a newer version of what love means: I found myself under all those layers, learned to love her (me), and taught my children to do the same. We had become a family like I never dreamed possible, loving, laughing, living, and supporting through it all.
And with every ending must come a new beginning– so the next movie begins
…