A sweet friend of mine just posted this quotable on my social media page. She tagged me and another one of our mutual friends-- as both of us have gone through some major relationship/life overhauls this past year.
In 2014, around this time, things had broken down enough in my marriage that-- not only did I know it was over, but so did my husband (even if he didn't want to see it that way). During the following months he asked for another chance. The tables had turned--as I, in the past, had asked for a few second chances myself.
It was strangely liberating to be on the other side -- a certain level of worthiness that required my husband to let go of the leash and just breathe.
At the same time as this letting go, there evolved a great support system -- friends, family, coworkers who cared enough to walk the tightrope with me, not sure exactly how it would all end --IF it ended. My mother, who is also a great confidant of mine, was supportive. My father, who had years prior asked me when I would finally divorce him, was right by my side. My brother and sis-in-law had been fed up with my husband's antics for years. My friends had always been there for me to lean on when the pressure to be everything --the mother, the wife, the physically perfect specimen, the housekeeper, the spiritual yogini. Of course, there was also a steady undercurrent of those who said, "You married him. You live with the consequences." After 9 years of trying to fit a square peg in a round hole, I had given up. We don't fit. We never did. I tried to adjust, to make myself what would be "acceptable" for my husband, but I could never, ever make him completely happy. So I let go.
By October, I had officially moved out to my little cabin in the woods. In the spirit of this newly found liberation, I booked a trip to New York City --- I wanted to get out of town. My plans fell through. But in the process, I started spending more and more time discussing my life changes with someone who had recently found himself going through divorce as well. It was an old friend of mine that I had kept in touch with for more than twenty years. His dad was the minister of my family's church growing up. His mom lead us through bell choir. We hiked and camped together on youth group outings. We did community service projects together. Later on, he was the source of wisdom and just plain honest truth who told me, "if a guy gets your number, C, that means he thinks he might have a chance to sleep with you. It may not be this month, or this year, but giving him your number means that it has the potential to happen." He was always straight forward and though supportive, he always made it a point to call me out on my bullshit.
Smack dab in the middle of my chaos, he offered up a getaway -- to visit him on the West Coast. It was mentioned in a "could you do me a favor" tone-- as his 40th birthday was approaching and he didn't want to spend it alone.
I was still regularly seeing my therapist at the time. She said, "Bad. Very bad idea.... You are too vulnerable for such a trip right now. What do you think he REALLY wants?"
He had never made any sort of romantic advances towards me -- well, at least since we were in our late teens/early twenties. There was an undeniable emotional connection, of course. He allowed himself a certain level of vulnerability and so did I. I answered the phone one night bawling over the loss of time with my children, loss of my sense of "place" in the world, loss of my marriage. He shared tears over his ongoing ankle injury, the hurtful things his ex had said to him, and his sadness of never having a child of his own.
Then, over the course of the next few months, little things he did would surprise me. For my birthday he sent flowers and some extremely decadent coconut peanut butter from Hawaii. He shared Shel Silverstein-esque poetry he had written and wanted me to share them with my children. We connected over our same spiritual identity -- and the surprise that neither one of us had any desire to align ourselves with a particular religion. Upon my suggestion, he tried meditation and loved the practice. There were a dozen ways that I felt like this thing that was happening was for the good of both of us.
Eventually, after almost 20 years, we found our way to once again meeting in person. The last time I'd seen him was 1994 or 95 -- neither one of us can remember for sure. I watched him get out of the car, walk towards me, and we embraced. There was something in that moment, something indescribable. It immediately felt comfortable.
Over the course of the last few months, I've noticed a completely different person begin to emerge -- one that reflects that statement in the quote above. Friends and family tell me that I seem more myself, content, blissful. I won't object. I have chosen to live a life that is more "me" than ever because I'm supported by someone who truly loves me the way that I am -- the way that I am here. the way that I am now. The best me.
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