The singular impact of doing this alone has been hitting lately.
That which I never wanted, the thing I wanted to avoid so badly, it’s here in my palm. Single parenting. In my efforts to avoid my childhood, it’s like I’ve dangled them in front of it anyway, staring at a future of them and me, instead of them, and us. Sure, I can envision a step father, eventually. But the way I trust people? I’ll never be able to fully trust another man around my children. Not deep in my heart, no matter how much I love them. It’s ingrained inside me, this shifting distrust, this whiff of suspicion. It’s totally unfair, and yet, something I have to grasp and throttle.
Breathe deeply. Let you anger flow through and around and out. Feel the anger. Feel the pain, feel the lonlieness, feel the ache of betrayal.
Now let it go. Breathe out and let fly the ghosts of who you were and what you wanted. Let go.
I’ve actually been alone for so long that I’m not jolted by it, more, I’m finally facing it and realizing it’s never just one side. Everything has a mate, a match.
Before at least, I could pretend.
I’ve spent my life running from alone. Running from that cold place I claimed to love. All I loved was that no one had a chance to wound me-alone I could be strong and lean against myself. Loving someone-that meant I had to lean into them.
Bitten, scorned, I’ve learned. I can only trust me.
Imagine your perfect world. Mine is full of golds and greens, perfectly swaying grasses, caressing in their fields, inviting. The sun is forever in that moment before sunset, where the world glows peace and we all look twice as lovely as we ever did. There’s a voice to the wind, loving, soothing. It’s inside us and all around, and we walk forever to a horizon we might not be able to find.
Imagine we could create that here.
Some days it makes me want to cry. Somedays I’m so angry I could destroy anything placed in front of me. Mostly though, it’s infuriating, the fact that I can do nothing, and what’s more, that I know I should do nothing, that future me will thank him for this, that him for the end I could never quite get to. But that knowledge doesn’t cure the craving in my skin, or the days and days wasted and missed.
Maybe I make it all out to something more than it ever was. If I look at it hard enough, I begin to wonder if he ever really loved me anyway. My heart sobs to think I was so unworthy of love.
Most days I just don’t know, but I put one foot in front of the other, smile at the sun, and hope. I cling to the knowledge that I will love again, and it will be the love I want-not unquestioning, but just the opposite-a challenge, a dare, a world made infinitely more interesting together.
Feel yourself alone. Feel your skin, your toes, the small hairs on your neck swaying. Brace to the floor there, and let the winds try to pick you up.
You’re stronger than this. Tell yourself each day that you are stronger, and better than all this. You deserve plain, garden variety happiness.
And you’ll have it.
My gut churns at the thought of him with someone else. My brain tells me that it’s irrelevant now anyway, and throws the thought out of my ear.
My this seeming connection, this warring state between the head and heart? Shouldn’t hate come easier now?
Hope is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.