I've been thinking about the feelings that come after a relationship has died. I'm sure that I'm not alone on this one. I was with a friend last weekend who said she knew her marriage was coming to its end when they spent a full day together and shared no eye contact. That broke my heart.
When I began the journey of rebuilding my existence after an ill-fated marriage, I had such hope that when I started dating again, I would be ready. I would avoid the pitfalls that damaged my experiences of love in the past. I would be a gentler soul. The next time out, I'd know how it was done.
I'd work on myself as a woman, as a Buddhist, and as a partner. I did all of those things and for a while, we were good together...
I remember having a love so ripe that when we were together, I enjoyed stroking his eyebrows. I remember us laughing and bowling and doing the kinds of things that young couples in love do, but then it changed. The behaviors that I once thought were strange became clearer and the signs steadily came that I was with an abuser. I went from being liberated as a divorcee to having to come into my own home walking on egg shells. Not a pretty sight...
The abuse became intolerable and no, I'm not saying at any point it is acceptable, but I reached my breaking point when my daughter as an infant saw one of the episodes errupt. That was it. I could not bear the thought of my beautiful child -- who depends on me for her measure of womanhood -- growing up to believe that abuse in any form is a normal part of a relationship.
That is where I am today. I tried to think of some witty and poetic ending that shows how saddened I am by the loss of the normal relationship that we once had, but I could not find the words...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment