{The Leaving}
"Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave." — Cormac McCarthy
It’s so deep in my past at this point, I hardly think of it
anymore. But what Meagan is going through is what I went through several years
ago. I remember how surreal and intimidating everything felt, the way my world
seemed to spin in circles, and how it seemed unfair that I was supposed to
somehow get on with this life while trying to process something as
life-altering as a divorce.
But, for me, it wasn’t ending the relationship. It was the
leaving.
I prefer the status quo above nearly everything. I couldn’t
fathom the thought of picking up my belongings, my friendships, and my job. I
couldn’t imagine leaving the curves and bumps of streets I drove every day, or
the slowed-down drawl of southern Indiana that I had become accustomed to, or
people who were intertwined into my life there. It wasn’t that I was even in
love with most of it. It was just paralyzing to think of starting over, as if
all of it had never happened. As if I hadn’t existed for those years. As if
they were empty.
One late summer
evening, as the sun was setting and the moon was rising over my lawn, a very
sweet friend sat on the concrete step with me at my front door, and she told me
to go. Katie probably knew there was a good chance I would stay in that little
house forever, and that I didn’t know how to be brave on my own. As the sunset’s glow turned into a deep dark
punctured by a few small stars, we talked about it. About the things I would
leave. About the possibilities I would gain. About the way I would grow. I’ll
always be grateful to Katie for that hand pulling me out of the quicksand.
I spent my 24th birthday packing up bits and
pieces of a life; keeping books and clothes, and throwing out a beaded white satin
gown and photos from that trip to Jamaica. Two days later, I stood on the ramp
of a U-Haul, directing family members about which things needed to go and which
could stay. I probably cried once or twice during that long drive, but I also already
felt the courage in me begin to spout. When I collapsed onto my bed that night,
in a bedroom of the house I had grown up in, I still felt a little bit like a
child, unsure of what I was doing and if I was doing it right. But the courage
that it took to leave was growing even that night, and it would continue to
even months after I had left. I did it. I was gone.
It wasn’t an easy road, of course. The depression I had
struggled with for so many years came back with a vengeance for a while, and I
coped with it in some destructive ways. When Meagan came by and said goodbye a
few nights ago, she mentioned that she missed touch. I understand that
instantly. I would crawl into bed at night and wish that someone, anyone would hold me. Any hug from a
friend, anytime a co-worker brushed by me in the hall, any affection from a
boyfriend…anything that felt connected suddenly became so valuable,
because I didn’t have that connection anymore. There were bouts of joy, a
relationship here and there, but the longer I lived this new life, the easier
it became. Suddenly, I realized I was peeling back the layers to who I actually
was. I liked that girl so much better.
And after I left, I became married to someone I actually truly loved. I had a daughter and, now, a newborn son with him. The family I was meant for has happened, and it wouldn’t have happened otherwise. I had this story sitting here, waiting for me the entire time.
And after I left, I became married to someone I actually truly loved. I had a daughter and, now, a newborn son with him. The family I was meant for has happened, and it wouldn’t have happened otherwise. I had this story sitting here, waiting for me the entire time.
The leaving was hard, as it should be. But it brought me to
a beautiful place.
3 comments:
I understand this. The leaving is hard.
Beautiful post, and such strength you two have. Missing you both and the Chambanavoy!
Beautiful post!
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