It Didn’t Hurt Any More

So, I was in the produce section getting apples when I spotted this man that looked familiar. Of course we were masked and bundled for snowy weather, so it’s always kind of a “how do I know that guy?” kind of situation. There was no indication of recognition on his part, so I just kept picking apples.

And then I was cruising the frozen food aisle that has all the ridiculous sweets on the shelf above the rows of frozen goodness (I’m looking at you dark chocolate covered marshmallows), and then I saw her. The “how do I know that guy’s” wife. “The one I used to know.” Insert movie slow-motion effect.

If she recognized me, I’ll never know. Our eyes didn’t meet. But I recognized her. And we passed one another. And that was it.

I’d waited for this very moment for five plus years. And then, it was over. Seemingly just for me. I’d pondered when it would happen. Where it would happen. But that stopped several years ago. I’d honestly stopped pondering. I had done my work. Life had moved on. 

I pushed my cart to the check-out, had an awesome conversation with the gal who rang me up, and went out to my car. That was it. 

I kept waiting for THAT feeling. The one that feels like someone punched you in the heart, and just when relief washes through, you get punched again. I kept waiting for the grief. The flow of tears. The questions of “What did I do wrong?” and “Why can’t we figure this out?” 

I kept waiting for the instant replay on the jumbotron of my consciousness to show me the images of failed communication, the codependency, the lack of boundaries, the desperation of approval seeking, the loss of friendship and subsequent self-flagellation that comes from a “failure.”

But it never came. I felt… neutral. It didn’t hurt anymore. Huh. Well… there you go.

Even as I write this, I’m searching my physiology for remnants of pain. And there isn’t any. There is some nostalgia. But no pain. Nothing. 

When our friendship began, it was the one I had waited for as an adult. It was the one that I was so excited about because we’d both lived a life and been through tough times. We were both married and had kiddos and were in business. We even brought a new friend into the mix, and it was so wonderful. For all of us. A refuge. A safe space. The three musketeers taking on the world and collaborating in business.

Until it wasn’t. Until the honeymoon was over. Until the misunderstandings and human shortcomings and disappointments created a rift that just couldn’t be repaired. Until the hurt was too much. Until heartbreak happened. 

And communication ceased. And lines were drawn. And sides were taken. And leases were nixed.

This was my first friend divorce as an adult. And it was brutal. And it was me on the other side of the bridge from them. It crossed so many planes of my existence. My spirituality. My parenthood. My business. My family. And the pain was so visceral. So constant.

This “divorce” happened soon after the birth of my third child. After the collapse of the housing market. The loss of my savings. My home. My dignity. My marriage… almost. It seemed that all of my structures needed to crumble. 

And that is so painful. Physically. 
Emotionally. 
Financially. 
Spiritually. 

This particular loss was like an insult to injury because they had been there through the thick of the challenges. They KNEW me, and they knew my vulnerabilities. My weaknesses. My fears. I was exposed. 

This was a time in my life where boundaries were coming up over and over again. Again. Damn. It became imperative for me to learn where I was over-functioning out of fear and lack. It was a time where I had to finally answer the question, “Who do you think you are?” And answer it from a place of compassion and the humility that comes from true surrender to the Divine. 

That pain was all mine. That brokenness was not visible. The world did not stop for my pain. The universe kept expanding whether I was okay or not. 

It was THE MOST deliberate time of my life. I looked at ALL of my structures and began to understand what was most essential.

The primary focus had to be my health.

My physical, emotional, spiritual, familial, and financial health. And thus, healing began. 

Sometimes, oftentimes, healing (as a verb, an action) means the acceptance that some things are not going to go the way you want. Thus, healing, by nature, begins with hurt.  Acknowledging the hurt, naming it, giving voice to what you’re feeling, is so important.

There is a seductive tone to the word healing that can be so misleading like a siren in the sea. It sounds good. It sounds so natural. Like a given. And yet… healing can be excruciating. 

The sooner we acknowledge the inherent paradox that healing actually hurts, the sooner we can allow the surrender necessary to actually experience the WHOLENESS that is healing.

When I was at the bottom and looking up and feeling so broken, if you were to have told me that I was still whole, I would have wanted to kick your ass. NOTHING about that place felt whole. I was fractured and hurting and lonely.

Even still, I began the work of healing and embodying this new self with the knowing that there was also no cure for our friendship. It was indeed dead. Along with many structures that had been in place. It was an overhaul. A new beginning. My healing journey, whether it’s physical or otherwise, pretty much follows that predictable path. 

What it always boils down to is surrender. When we are brave enough to be with what is and surrender to the not knowing, life can come forward in new ways. We are designed, as nature, to heal. To begin again.

Pain or injury due to loss, whether of a relationship, a person, a business, an idea, is part of our experience. And so is healing. The broken pieces are a part of the whole experience. Being able to navigate the knowing that some things will never go back together is part of the hybrid (human/divine) experience. That awareness in and of itself will create spaciousness for healing, and the essence of healing is a recognition of wholeness.