Today, without even realizing I was overly upset, I reached a realization of just how very, very upset and full of grief I am.
I haven’t blogged much about this sudden and new chapter of my life. I haven’t known how to say the things I’ve thought and felt without hurting people I know will read my words and take them very seriously.
And so, I haven’t blogged and haven’t really organized my thoughts and feelings in the ways I normally do.
Usually, I would write a song, write a blog entry, write an email to a friend. I am very good at getting out the poison and bouncing back; the fact that I survived my past and made it out alive, let alone with such an optimistic spirit, is a testament to the level of resiliency in my soul.
This time, I’m still figuring out the best way to bounce back. There’s nothing to do but fit myself back into the same life, and none of the old pieces fit as neatly as they once did.
I had to leave a man I loved with my entire heart. I climbed mountains for him, gave him my entire world without hesitation, and I loved him as best as I knew how. When I love, I love freely and fully.
At one point, Ian was my soulmate. He possessed an inner light that shone as brightly as mine. After years of being with people who had tried to take our light without giving any back, it was beautiful to be able to enjoy being in one another’s glow, as equals.
What neither one of us realized was that Ian’s light was only on temporarily. It wasn’t the case of a “new relationship” sparkle that faded; I had awakened Ian from a deep depression that was stronger than the happiness we brought to each other.
As time went by, Ian slipped deeper and deeper into what he and I now call “Ian World.” Instead of acting out of love, he started to consistently act from a place of self-fulfillment. I instantly felt the difference and spent the next year and a half begging for “my Ian” to come back.
And Ian thought I was crazy, that this was just how he was, why couldn’t I be happy with what he was willing to give?
So, as people who love freely and fully do, I looked inside myself. I said, “Self, we left home for this man, we love him, what can we do to make this love better for both of us?”
And I stopped fighting, learned to channel my anger into conversations, rented out a beautiful office I couldn’t quite afford, and did it willingly and with total love.
It helped. Things improved, we barely fought anymore, and I started secretly thinking of the period of peace we lived in as the “Pax Romana.”
What I never realized was, if I thought of my relationship as being in an island of peace surrounded by fighting, that must mean I expected the peace to end.
And, as all little life ironies manage to play out, it did.
I don’t want to get into the details of the end of my relationship with Ian. It’s not the details that are important; what matters are the consequences of those details.
I lost a love I gave my entire heart and soul to, and the losing of it was never my choice. I couldn’t control it going away, and I can’t force it to come back.
I’ve been fighting against the anger, resentment, the hopelessness of the situation. As much as I like to act as though I have it more together than I do, I’ve been moving through the five stages of grief as slowly and surely as everyone must.
I may bounce back more quickly than most people, but I still hurt when I hurt and cry when I need to cry.
Until I can accept the end of this chapter of my life, I won’t be able to heal and neither will anyone else in the situation. This has been the biggest heartbreak I’ve ever experienced, not only from the loss of a partner, but also from the loss of so many of the people who had become my family.
This is the darkest of days; this is when it seems there’s no clear future, where clinging to a past that doesn’t work seems like a better answer than following a new, unmarked road. I’m scared, and right now even I, the Unrelenting Optimist, am having a hard time finding hope that everything will be okay in the end.
But, fear is part of it all. We don’t get roadmaps for life, and no matter the situation we are always shooting blind; every step we take out our front doors is a little leap of faith.
There’s a quote in The Secret from Dr. Michael Beckwith that has always struck a chord with me:
“We love to know exactly where we are going and to have control of that venture, but there are times when we travel a path we have chosen and have no idea of how we get there.
Take, for example, a road trip at night: let’s say from Massachusetts to California.
We plan the route carefully and study the map, but our headlights can only illuminate 200 feet ahead, mile after mile.
We can’t see the route but we know we will eventually arrive at our destination. We have to trust that the road is there.
If we cannot trust what lies beyond the headlights then we will never go at all.”
It’s what reminds me that all we can do is continue to walk outside our front doors and take our little leaps of faith, and eventually we will get to where we need to go.
Like
Related posts:
2 Responses to “Breaking my silence”
All I can do is send you love from here. You are perfect just where you are. Your writing IS the healing. I saw a wonderful wall hanging yesterday (and should have bought it!!) that said, “If I knew where I was going, I’d be there already.” Your post is so beautiful and courageous.
*hugs* I know your stages of grief need to be experienced by you alone, but if you need a place to “get away from it all” or an ear, you know we’re here (after a nice revitalizing drive.)