People come into our lives for a reason. Sometimes, we never know the reason and sometimes we can figure it out. I’m learning a lot this week about love and letting go. I’m trying hard not to own things that aren’t mine to own, and to take responsibility for those things that are mine to own. The latter is typically easy for me to do, but the former is much harder.
One thing I’m learning this week is that I have little control over anything except myself. And to own things that really aren’t mine to own is a pretty egotistical stance to take. It implies that I have a level of power or control that borders on narcissistic. I can’t make someone do something, and I can’t stop someone from doing something. I can only experience my own emotions, live my own reality, and accept that which comes. And whether I’m owned or not, it’s my full responsibility to protect the property. I’m trying.
I’ve struggled a lot over the last many months with second guessing myself, questioning whether I’ve done the work that needed doing, questioning whether I’m a good person or a selfish person. Questioning my own emotional health.
I filed for divorce this week. The first time I did that, back in 2003, I was celebrating as I walked out of the courthouse. All I could think of then was, “I’m FREE!” And I said then that I would never marry again. But I met someone whose soul spoke to mine and I did. This week, there wasn’t a celebration as I left the courthouse. There were only tears and sadness.
“The Universe doesn’t give us more than we can handle.” I asked someone recently, “How does the Universe know that one has reached their limit? And if that is true, then why doesn’t the Universe also help us pick up the shattered pieces and put them back together?” I’m told the Universe does, in time. Time has begun to lose meaning.
I’ve lost two important men in my life this year – one to death and one to his own demons. I don’t want to be sad and broken anymore, but I don’t know how to heal the wounds. They are deep and fresh and oozing. I know that with time they will scab over and turn into scars. I know that, ultimately, they will become part of what makes me ‘me’. Another box of baggage to unpack at the next destination.
I want to walk barefoot in the sand, with the sun on my skin and the ocean in front of me. I want the waves to wash away all that is broken and the sun to warm the chill inside me. To pull my soul out of the darkness and back into the light. And to fill the gaping holes. I want life to stop being so hard. And I want to sleep without dreaming.