My parents were 16 when I was born. Suffice it to say, I have some gaping wounds. The core one is that I'm not not enough. That I have to prove my worth by being smart and funny and interesting in order to be loved. And if I am not these things, the people I love will leave. I've been working on healing this one for pretty much all of my adult life. Most days I can talk back to it. Tell it that it's full of shit. Take some deep breaths and move forward. But even when I can, I know there is a voice burrowed in my gut, waiting to prove me wrong.
I got dumped last week. After six months of falling deeply in love. In love to a degree that I didn't think I was capable of any more. I was in a relationship where I could be completely myself and he loved me for it. Until he didn't.
The truth is, I don't know if he still loves me or not. I know that he's battling some demons. My initial reaction was to hear that voice burrowed in my gut saying: I told you so. That's what happens when your worst fear comes true. You believe the voices. You are not enough.
So you call out of work for two days and cry bruises under your eyes. You stare at the ceiling and worry about him. You don't want to eat, so you don't. You process. You compare your story to the facts. And eventually you start to make enough sense on the nonsensical that your equilibrium returns.
The truth as I have come to understand it is that this is not about me. In the past, I've thought that was a bullshit excuse people used when they lost interest. And, I suppose, sometimes it is. But in this set of circumstances, I believe it. It fucking hurts, but I believe it. Because when someone chooses their own pain over you, you will never be enough for them. No matter how genuine and true and Stacie I was, he could not stay on our path.
I'm trying not to blame him for that. But who the fuck am I kidding? I'm pretty devastated. And when you're devastated, when you have rug pulled out from under you, when your hopes for the future are destroyed, you want to blame someone. Anyone. But just like the ones from my parents, this wound is born of humanity -- the very definition of which is equal parts beauty and pain. My heart knows this.
There is a part of me that knows this needed to happen. That I needed to have my worst fear come true to realize that I could survive it. I hate that the Universe works this way, but I have to accept it. She's not changing for me. I'm the one who has to change.
And I will. This wound will mostly heal, eventually. As the cheesy guided meditation I did on youtube told me the other night: a broken heart is an open heart. If nothing else, I am open to the lessons. I will take them with me as I navigate love in the future, whether it's with him or someone else. I will know that I AM enough.
I got dumped last week. After six months of falling deeply in love. In love to a degree that I didn't think I was capable of any more. I was in a relationship where I could be completely myself and he loved me for it. Until he didn't.
The truth is, I don't know if he still loves me or not. I know that he's battling some demons. My initial reaction was to hear that voice burrowed in my gut saying: I told you so. That's what happens when your worst fear comes true. You believe the voices. You are not enough.
So you call out of work for two days and cry bruises under your eyes. You stare at the ceiling and worry about him. You don't want to eat, so you don't. You process. You compare your story to the facts. And eventually you start to make enough sense on the nonsensical that your equilibrium returns.
The truth as I have come to understand it is that this is not about me. In the past, I've thought that was a bullshit excuse people used when they lost interest. And, I suppose, sometimes it is. But in this set of circumstances, I believe it. It fucking hurts, but I believe it. Because when someone chooses their own pain over you, you will never be enough for them. No matter how genuine and true and Stacie I was, he could not stay on our path.
I'm trying not to blame him for that. But who the fuck am I kidding? I'm pretty devastated. And when you're devastated, when you have rug pulled out from under you, when your hopes for the future are destroyed, you want to blame someone. Anyone. But just like the ones from my parents, this wound is born of humanity -- the very definition of which is equal parts beauty and pain. My heart knows this.
There is a part of me that knows this needed to happen. That I needed to have my worst fear come true to realize that I could survive it. I hate that the Universe works this way, but I have to accept it. She's not changing for me. I'm the one who has to change.
And I will. This wound will mostly heal, eventually. As the cheesy guided meditation I did on youtube told me the other night: a broken heart is an open heart. If nothing else, I am open to the lessons. I will take them with me as I navigate love in the future, whether it's with him or someone else. I will know that I AM enough.
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