Him, Me, And Our Story Through My Eyes-Part 1
Him, Me, And Our Story Through My Eyes - Part 1.
It has been two years and nine months since I fell in love, hard, with a man who left me with a big hole in my heart and soul. The picture is from December 31, 2019, moments before I met him for the first time.
Today is the birthday of his little girl. The little girl I became so fond of, the one who loves piggies. Today as I watch my little girl play, I have a knot in my chest. He and I discussed a possible scenario of what would happen if we decided not to be together. We both have previous partners who are unreasonable regarding the children. I have shared with him how we adults seem to make the children pay for our inability to get along. But none of that came into existence. He left. There was no goodbye, no closure, no keeping the promises. He left, and I ended up picking up the broken pieces of my children and me.
This is a long overdue essay. It took me nine months to be able to gather enough strength to be able to write it.
The few times I sat down to do this before, I did not like the answers to the questions I was asking myself.
Why am I writing this?
Do I have any hidden agenda?
Do I expect him to read it?
Am I writing this to elicit a reaction from anyone, whether it's a stranger or someone I know?
What is the purpose of this collection of words? What does it give to me or anyone else?
Truth can be subjective.
Especially in a situation regarding a relationship, I love the saying, "His side, her side, and then the truth or the story."
This will be my side. Before I could sit down and write this, I had to be strong and humble enough to accept that this was my side of the story. It is influenced by how I feel, how I feel, and what my viewpoint and thoughts are. This is never going to be a neutral account of events.
Now that was a difficult thing to acknowledge and accept. I am human enough, vulnerable enough, and have been hurt deeply by the events that I want to scream this as the truth. But a part of me never could.
I tried to keep my composure. Then I lost it for a while. The stages of grief had been all over the place. I was caught between being happy for him and disappointed in him for not being true to his word. I have put myself in a position I can only describe as self-harming.
A decade ago, I learned that the most important value that I want to love is not lying to myself.
I love the quote by Dr. Angelou.
"Do the best you can until you know better.
Then when you know better, do better."
At times it took me a while to know better. But I find solace in the belief that I am doing the best I can with what I have and know at any given time. When I do learn better, I try to do better. Though not consistently successful, I do keep trying to improve and grow.
I am writing this to accept and make sense of my past 2.5 years. Writing has always been my saving grace as someone who struggles with anxiety.
I do not expect anything from anyone who reads this. I am not writing this for anyone other than myself; a selfish act, and people like me.
As I write this, I am forcing myself to try to see things from a narrator's perspective.
I am hoping to let out those stuck painful tears and forgive myself, a redemption through my words out in public.
An act of embracing the broken and vulnerable side of me and thus reminding myself of the strength it takes to love someone despite the rejection and heartache.
The saddest and most unacceptable part of all this, and a motivator for me to write, is that I found myself with walls around my heart, with difficulty trusting my instincts and others around me. I want to love deeply and have my strength back to not close my heart because of fear of heartbreak. That is not the way I like to live this life.
The story is long.
I do not have the patience to sit and write it in one go. I will not be doing justice to it. So I have decided to write in parts. This is part 1.