This past weekend I found myself crying big, juicy tears one night. The tears were waiting there, for years, waiting for the right moment, and when that moment came, they freed themselves. Some context: A couple of weeks ago, my guy and I were talking about our childhoods. He wrapped the conversation up with a comment about how he has a feeling we will help each other heal. Since then, he’s flown across the world to spend a week and a half with me. He arrived, immediately folded into my life, and now we are discussing finding a reasonable path to actually living together and building a life together. Here’s where the tears come in.
I found myself mourning my younger self and the ideas she had about the treatment she deserved. I allowed people to use me and abuse me and I tolerated so much because I didn’t know there was better and I didn’t believe I deserved it, even if there was. As I cried, I held myself, apologizing for the things I allowed, and promising to up the ante by requiring better every day moving forward.
I acknowledge that this relationship is new and even newer up close and personal, but baring that in mind and comparing it with the honeymoon phases of my previous relationships, there’s just no comparison.
I came across this image the day after my big cry and realized what I did the night before was start a healing process that I have been hoping to start for so long. Like finding the edge of packaging tape, healing sounds easier than it is, and sometimes we get false starts, but I am slowly peeling this back and hoping that it’s a real beginning.
(And he isn’t saving me, by the way. My knight in shining armor is simply a Moroccan in a black jacket but his kindness and patience has allowed a quiet peace that I have never shared with another. I am learning what it means to feel safe in space with another human, Alhamdulillah.)
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