A Lesson in Disappearances

Today I was reminded how difficult, yet necessary it can be to let someone go.

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One significant element of my journey has been to realize where my support comes from. In April, I found myself praying that God would move me closer to Him, and that He would remove those who I had placed in the way. This little exercise in prayer was a testament to the power of our requests. People started dropping like flies: close friends, some family members, random men who were vying for my attention (my cell even mysteriously stopped sending and receiving text messages which could just be bad business from Verizon or it could be divine intervention to stop a booty call). For those of you who haven't prayed in a while: try and you might be surprised at the answers that come your way. I am constantly awed by the revelations I receive, when I just ask to be shown. 

So in the midst of these relationships dropping like calls on a Cricket phone, my boyfriend and I decided to take a break. In the deepest recesses of my heart I knew it was time to let go then. Calling it a break appeased the part of me still clutching on to the relationship's better days. And it had seen better days. Most of you know how this story goes...what was supposed to be a two-week-long break, turned into a month...turned into two months...turned into a man who had simply vanished into the abyss of boyfriends passed.

I left plenty of pillowcases tear-stained until finally, it seemed I was over it. I'd thrown myself into self-discovery, work, my friendships, and most importantly my faith. I didn't have time to dwell on the relationship that was no more. One day he just popped up to the forefront of my mind. I was angry at his cerebral return! He had snatched a part of my heart and disappeared with it. I wanted the piece back and I wanted my peace back. In order to retrieve said piece, I decided that I would write him The Letter detailing all of the ways in which he'd broken my heart. Then I would demand that he fix it by either returning the piece he'd taken in the form of an explanation and apology, or by reappearing in the form of the man I'd originally fallen in love with. I needed answers, and he had them. Or so I thought.

Let me be upfront here: I have played this game before. Girl meets boy. Boy woos girl. Coupledom ensues. Boy falls off the face of the Earth. Girl writes long, crazy love letter berating Boy, demanding answers, and finally begging to be taken back. Luckily enough I've got a new coach in the game.

Just as I began to type up this letter to my ex, something inside said You can ask why he disappeared. Just don't ask him; ask the one who put him there. So I prayed. Again. This time for answers. It's taken a while, but I'm getting it.

Throughout our long-distance relationship, I'd relied on how often we talked, if he'd said just the right thing, if he made me feel beautiful, worthy...happy. I'd leaned on him completely when I had a bad day, and then had the nerve to rehash it all to my girl friends. I needed to stop the whiny phone calls to my girls; stop turning them into living room psychologists. And  needed to stop relying on romantic relationships (or the illusion of them) to make me happy. I needed to stop quasi-co-depending.

When you think about it, it's not fair really that we ask people to take on the role of constant cheerleader and counselor. They are only human. They get tired of cheering. They will fail. We all do. There is nothing wrong with failing, except that when we place the essence of our bliss into the hands of people, we find ourselves up a creek when they fail us simply by being who they are: human. 

That is not to say we should not rely on people at all...far from it. Our interaction with people, the way we treat them and the way we love them, makes life worth living. However, co-dependence is never a good look, even in its mildest forms.

It's been a few weeks since I decided not to send The Letter. Today I learned some things about him that, stung at first, but are making it easier to release. More importantly, I've learned a few things about myself. I've given myself permission to hold onto some of the good without holding on to him. I've taken the time to re-evaluate my role in the demise and the beauty of the relationship; taken the grace to forgive myself for the things I did wrong and to ponder how to do them better the next time. It's tough. The inclination is to wipe the tears when they come, call myself a wuss and act like it doesn't still hurt a bit. To just "move on." To move into the next relationship before the wounds heal and the scars fade. I'm not interested in re-opening these wounds again, so this time, I'll take as much time as it takes to let go for real. I'll be a relationship champ by the end. Like I said, I've got a new coach.