I received an email today from an old friend. Eager to read through expected pages and pages of soothing advice, I quickly clicked on "open." To my dismay, it was short. Well, that's not true - it really wasn't short but the part that related to me was. The rest was about him and general information about his family and other life updates. The part relating to me basically just congratulated me for having grown so much in the last 2 years.
My friend is a therapist. He is someone I have always confided in to tell me where I need to go. He has reminded me to keep my eyes open and to pay attention only to those things that matter. An old professor of mine, he's been both a teacher and a mentor. He ended his email with, "I am grateful to have you as my friend."
I sat there, still. Breathing. Thinking. Absorbing. Processing...smiling.
Strange as it sounds, it felt right. The last few weeks, I've felt different - as if I had finally arrived. I look in the mirror and see the woman I always hoped I would become. I feel strong, I feel happy, I feel at peace. I feel grateful for having struggled so much in the last couple of years because this, my friends, is exactly the end for which I was hoping.
What seemed like endless nights of sleeping on tear-soaked pillows are just a distant memory. That feeling of having someone pull the rug - and with it, my entire life - out from under my feet as I watched the whole thing happen, is finally gone. I can look through old photo albums and smile at the memory of a good time, no longer feeling that sharp pain in my chest and knot in my throat. I can reflect on my experiences with amazement and gratitude as I realize that each and every one of them has brought me to this place where I feel balanced and I feel complete. I no longer look for other people's approval and I no longer live a life of unnecessary drama and emotional pain. I not only love the person in the mirror, I also like her.
So as I began my day with this touching email from my friend, I realized our relationship had changed as well. Oh, the fear of change and how it has prevented us humans from doing so many things. I realized, I was now his equal. I was his friend; no longer his student. The relationship we used to have was no longer necessary, and the idea of how incredible our new relationship could be relieved me.
This is my first post on this site. As I peer my head out of the wormhole and see the joy and beauty on the other side, I see a life where I am strong and confident; independent and gentle; sexy and beautiful. I see a life where I am appreciated and valued for the things I do and a life where I choose the elements in which I live. I see a template for my daughters that I am proud of.
So my purpose for writing here today is to hopefully reach those of you who are getting ready to leap but are too scared to let go, by showing you that you're not alone. I remember that feeling of intense abandonment, followed by bitterness, pain, tears, anxiety, more tears, and more anxiety. Then depression. I didn't know how I was going to pay the bills, raise two children, finish school, keep my figure, get haircuts, do laundry, dishes, take the trash out, feed the hamster...it was all so overwhelming.
My new life began in 2005. After hours of uncomfortable conversation and my hope that I could convince him to go to therapy and fix it or maybe that he'd agree on a temporary separation whereby I would stay at my mother's with the kids and return after summer seemed to last far too long into the early hours of the morning. Thoughts of unread chapters and unwritten papers began to loom in the foreground of my mind until they (and I) were suffocated by the following words: "I guess I've been unhappy pretty much since the kids were born. I don't really love you. I stopped a long time ago."
It went on but, the words all blur together. Sort of like the teacher in the old Peanut's cartoons. Ahh, but the punch in the stomach didn't come for another few weeks. I accepted it in my usual rational way and figured I wouldn't have to deal with his shenanigans any longer and all would be fine. The next day, I drove to school, I sat in a half daze through my seminars and was actually surprised I couldn't read more than 2 sentences at a time. It wasn't for another few weeks when the idea that this was real and that Christmas would be different and so would birthday parties and finances and friends and music collections and dvd's that I started to notice my breathing becoming more rapid and shallow. Waking up at my mother's a few months later, I realized I had anxiety and that's when the punch in the stomach came.
Now it was real. Now it was sinking in that I had to finish school by myself. And the kids? Oh my god...the kids....I couldn't even begin to think about that unless I knew I had the strength to stay up for days, chain smoking, wondering what would become of us. That year, I made $12,000. Yes, twelve thousand. That was the going rate for a full time graduate student on the East Coast. I cried.
But, like all things, this phase was temporary and that thought must rule your world. It must be brought to the forefront of your mind until you gain control of your life and balance it with joy. The process was tough but in the end, I am happy for it because from that great suffering came great growth.
"Don't listen to what people say...life is long," a great friend once said to me.
A bookend. That's what 2007 was for me. It was a bookend. The earth has spun a sufficient amount of times to cause us all to replace our calendars once again. Let 2008 be welcomed with open arms and open hearts.