I might be divorced 24 hours from now. As in no longer married, not the Professor's wife -- not his anything. Just a memory, a mistake, his bad decision. Something he did once, and then undid. That hurts me in ways I cannot articulate. I will be forever changed, always somehow altered. But I am already hurt, and I am already altered, and nothing can undo that. I let it wash over me and paint me with the kaleidoscopic colors of loss and newness. I embrace it, because really, there is no other choice but to let it destroy you. And so, I am ready.
I've spent a lot of time in these last ten months thinking about the Professor, thinking about the things I did wrong and the things I did right. I've dwelled in a dark place, a lonely place, a place of coming to terms with him and with myself. It's a tough place to dwell. It's humiliating and humbling to consider yourself honestly. It's scary to sit alone with yourself -- to seek refuge in nothing but the painful glare of reality mirrored back at you, to be enveloped by nothing but you.
But still. As I have said before, there is always a "but still."
But still, I have done more than survive. Because I sat alone with myself and did not hide, I know myself. I have learned (and continue to learn) to be conscious of myself. As a result, I am stronger and better -- and know how to continue to keep on that path. I am also gentler with myself, because I am well-acquainted with my own flaws and my own strengths. I see the good in myself tempered by the bad, the bad in myself balanced by the good. And I'm working on improving the bad.
But even more than that, more than what I see in and know of myself, is that I can move through this experience, and past it, without bitterness or anger. Yes, I get angry. I want to be mean. But those feelings are momentary. I don't let them control my actions or words, and they pass. And, somehow, the perspective and gentleness I've learned how to have with myself gives me perspective and gentleness towards the Professor, as well.
It may not make sense to you. I'm not sure I really understand it, myself. But I do know that it's real and it's true. And it's important, because it means that despite being altered by this experience, despite being hurt in ways that make my breath catch, I am not broken and brittle. I am not consumed by what has happened, by being left, by my hurt and anger. The scars are there, but they do not define me. They are just scars. Sometimes tender and aching, sometimes inflamed -- but not who I am or what I am about. And that is good and freeing. It empowers me to keep moving forward in a sure, but kind and gentle, way.
And that is who I want to be. Kind. Gentle. Real.
2 comments:
You have come so far over the past 10 months, and I thank God that you have taken this path for your journey. I believe it will lead you in the right direction. I love you Stephanie!
Your writing reflects that. It is nothing but thoughtful, reflective, sometimes wistful but always kind and gentle. And certainly real. This is a hard journey and self-reflection (at any time) is difficult to achieve and even harder to actualize. But you have done that because you are strong. And you are probably stronger because of it. Hang in there. You are a wonderful example of what people can be in spite of life.
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