As I write this, I’m feeling tender and fiery.
A strange combination of grief and anger.
I haven’t slept properly in three days.
A mixture of staying out too late having fun, menopause, stress, work, and an emotional conversation navigating an impasse with someone I love.
For two years I’ve been living in a state of heartache over that impasse.
It was loud and weighty the first year.
The second year, it’s become more of a background hum— one that triggers spontaneous late-night cries or car-ride tears when certain songs play on the radio.
It’s less intense now, but always with me.
I’ve followed the sage advice of relationship experts on getting over the end of something you never wanted to end.
I’ve done the rituals. The unfollowing. The no contact.
I’ve expressed everything and sought closure.
In many ways, we’ve healed the rupture.
But the kind of acceptance that loosens attachment, until its more of a passing breeze than a gripping windstorm, still eludes me.
I’ve been stuck, though I hate to admit that.
I mean, this is no ordinary connection.
It’s deep and strong and beautiful. And still very much alive, making it that much harder to move on. For me, anyway.
I think I’ve grown weary of sitting with my pain.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m living a full life. Family. Friends. Laughter. Even joy.
And yet, it’s always here— hovering in the back of my throat, sinking like a weight in my stomach, rising from my chest and slipping from my eyes until my vision is blurred.
I haven’t yet understood the root of my stuckness, but I hypothesize these feelings keep me tethered to the love.
I feel my longing to end the suffering, though I know it’s the path and not the obstacle.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years it is that the grief, hope, and attachment leave when they have completed their journey and their purpose. Not a minute before.
Until then my only course is to love the ability to feel everything fully.
It’s possible I may miss it when it’s gone.
From my heart to yours
