I remember the feeling of apathy. I remember well the sensation of not caring about anything, interspersed with feelings of excruciating sadness and fatigue that would erupt seemingly out of nowhere. But, in a way, the apathy was familiar. I'd accepted it and, in a way, become accustomed to it. What kept me from leaving for so long was first the expectation that there was no way out, but second, the fear of the unknown. What would happen if I left? I knew what life held for me if I stayed, and it was misery, but at least I knew.
In a lot of ways, the worst case scenario played out because I had an ex who was willing to go further than I was; who was more willing than I to cause pain to accomplish his goals and do what was in his best interest. Maybe that just makes me stupid. The biggest thing was the fear.
When I met my little boy's father, I instantly recognized that fear in him, too. We were both standing on the edge of the life we had known for many years, the comfort and familiarity of an unhappy life behind us and in front of us the wild, intoxicating "what-if" of fulfillment, happiness and wholeness. With him beside me, I became braver than I thought I could be. We ran together into the dark and I felt afraid, but afraid with a companion is a blessing. Then, suddenly, things became real. The shadows in the woods belonged to actual creatures of pain and hurt- the kind of creatures that, if you beat them, make you unstoppable, but who are terrifying to face. And he ran back to his prison, to his unhappiness, because it was better than having to find out if he was strong enough to face the monsters out in the world.
But I'd made my choices. There was no going back, nor would I've wanted to. However, my bravery faltered. I laid my body down in that blackness and prayed for daylight, and occasionally glimpses of sun would scatter the trees, but in the end, the forest was too dense. My only option became to move forward and find the other side of the wilderness, my own 40 days in the desert, that could only be faced alone.
I realize that I have family and friends who support me. But they can't walk that path with me because they aren't there on that trail less journey. They are already home. I don't know what's on the other side. Baby boy's father could have held my hand and taken the journey with me, but now it's up to me to find my way alone. I am hopelessly alone.
The ghosts of the past can't kill me, but they do whip at me like a sharp winter wind. The obstacles in my path trip me and the ground is hard and cold. My heart is tired. But I hold my babies close to me and try to remember that they need me to find our home, our place in the world.
I can't regret the steps I took to start walking away to only God knows where. Regretting those steps would be regretting baby boy, hating myself again, letting myself believe I am worth only what I could do to keep the men in my life faithful. Working to earn love that should've been freely given and knowing I would never be enough, because men like that will always take until the other person is empty and throw away the husk.
So here I am, deep in the forest of my fears. Beyond it is hope, but I don't know how far away that horizon lies. So I keep moving forward with love as my compass and my intuition as my guide.
Wish me luck.
In a lot of ways, the worst case scenario played out because I had an ex who was willing to go further than I was; who was more willing than I to cause pain to accomplish his goals and do what was in his best interest. Maybe that just makes me stupid. The biggest thing was the fear.
When I met my little boy's father, I instantly recognized that fear in him, too. We were both standing on the edge of the life we had known for many years, the comfort and familiarity of an unhappy life behind us and in front of us the wild, intoxicating "what-if" of fulfillment, happiness and wholeness. With him beside me, I became braver than I thought I could be. We ran together into the dark and I felt afraid, but afraid with a companion is a blessing. Then, suddenly, things became real. The shadows in the woods belonged to actual creatures of pain and hurt- the kind of creatures that, if you beat them, make you unstoppable, but who are terrifying to face. And he ran back to his prison, to his unhappiness, because it was better than having to find out if he was strong enough to face the monsters out in the world.
But I'd made my choices. There was no going back, nor would I've wanted to. However, my bravery faltered. I laid my body down in that blackness and prayed for daylight, and occasionally glimpses of sun would scatter the trees, but in the end, the forest was too dense. My only option became to move forward and find the other side of the wilderness, my own 40 days in the desert, that could only be faced alone.
I realize that I have family and friends who support me. But they can't walk that path with me because they aren't there on that trail less journey. They are already home. I don't know what's on the other side. Baby boy's father could have held my hand and taken the journey with me, but now it's up to me to find my way alone. I am hopelessly alone.
The ghosts of the past can't kill me, but they do whip at me like a sharp winter wind. The obstacles in my path trip me and the ground is hard and cold. My heart is tired. But I hold my babies close to me and try to remember that they need me to find our home, our place in the world.
I can't regret the steps I took to start walking away to only God knows where. Regretting those steps would be regretting baby boy, hating myself again, letting myself believe I am worth only what I could do to keep the men in my life faithful. Working to earn love that should've been freely given and knowing I would never be enough, because men like that will always take until the other person is empty and throw away the husk.
So here I am, deep in the forest of my fears. Beyond it is hope, but I don't know how far away that horizon lies. So I keep moving forward with love as my compass and my intuition as my guide.
Wish me luck.
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