letting go wasn’t what I expected
...
I thought it would come with a wave of forgiveness for all the hurt that has been done to me, and from me.
I thought it would come with a flashing clarity of what happened, whether my final hunch to break up was because of my insecurity, the relationship itself, or how much of each.
I thought it would wash me over with gratitude for the “what I’ve learned” and the “how I’ve grown”.
I thought it would mean reconnection - us being besties again.
.
.
Instead, it’s just me putting a bunch of old pine needles in the compost bin.
.
.
It was a bunch of pine needles I saved from the first time we reconnected, the first bloom of our romance. We were in the mountain camping, tripping on acid, and having a good time buoying in the grey zone between friends and lovers.
So I kept it, fondling it at the height of love when I missed him. I kept it, staring frustratedly when all I could find inside was anger and hurt. I kept it, months after the breakup, when I said “I’m completely okay now” and still casually bitch-mouthed him. I tried to throw it away once, just to rummage through the trashcan later to put it back in the notebook, a crack of our memory.
This time when I put the pine needles in the compost bin, I imagine how it’ll turn into soil that will turn into a tree in our community garden next spring. And I let it go.
None of the forgiveness, clarity, or gratitude came. Instead, it was just a simple acceptance of the past - “Oh, it happened.”
I thought that not until I had complete clarity, would I be able to let the past go. What if I hadn’t finished processing the relationship, and like an inflammation under the skin, it would fester into my next romance? But today, I look at that possibility with calm. “It’s okay, I will solve it when it comes. I will hold myself then even if it’s painful again.”
I thought that not until we reconnected as friends, would it count as completely-over-the-breakup. But I can continue to love a person even if they’re not in my life anymore. With each loving-kindness meditation, I surprised myself at what and how much I can love. I can love my grandfather who’s passed for a few years and send him love. I can love my ex who I no longer talk to. I can just feel and send the love without any action. And somehow, it’s enough.
I thought that not until I had his acknowledgement or spite him, would I be able to mend. Instead, I cried with my best friend the night before she left New York. She just broke up, and our relationships were eerily similar. She asked me if I resented her for her choices with her ex, many of which were similar to mine. “No, seeing you going through such a similar breakup arc terrifies me a bit. It was hard to go through that once and you just remind me.”
We saw each other in that moment, two frightened people. And somehow in the moment of most hurt, she hugged me so tightly. She didn’t expect me to be a perfect supporter, who wouldn’t bear my past, my prejudice, and my anger into her situations. She saw that I had both - the ability to love and care for her, and my baggage. And that embrace somehow set me free.
The next day when I woke up, the pine needles were in the compost bin.