I painted yesterday. As soon as I got a taste, I wanted more. I can feel it even as I type- I’m craving those colors, wanting to dip my fingers into cobalt, phthalo turquoise and yellow ochre. I want to squeeze those tubes of hot pink into my mouth.
Hiking has felt that way too. Anything that makes me feel better – sweating, creating, connecting, it all feels like the most potent medicine. I am like a starving person. None of it is lost on me.
Lost.
That’s part of this experience too. Where do I belong? Who do I belong to?
When the man I’ve been seeing for the last year broke up with me recently, I cried in my friends’ arms. My sweet friend that insisted on spending the night, who heard my voice shake and texted a few moments later: “I’m coming over right now and staying the night.”
She arrived with strawberries and whipped cream, wine, chocolate and two lottery tickets. And when the grief was overwhelming, she held me while I wept – a cry from such a deep, old place I hardly recognized it. A child’s tears… and I found myself saying: “He didn’t choose me. He didn’t choose me. I want someone to choose me…”
I want to know who I belong to.
“You belong to your boys,” the intuitive bodyworker said to me years ago. “You will always have your boys.” This is before I decided to leave, before I said those words: I can’t do this anymore… before everything unravelled.
Lost. In limbo. In between. Wobbling about.
“That hurt we embrace becomes joy. Call it to your arms where it can change.” I read this line in a Rumi poem recently. I think he’s talking about self-compassion and the alchemy of grief. That’s the water I’m swimming in folks. I know I’m not alone.
P.S. This is an example of Brave Blogging! Will you join me in doing more of it? Class begins on Monday!
11 Comments
Take heart, dear one. You are NOT alone! It’ll get better I promise.
I’ve had that feeling so many times — of not knowing who I belong to. The good thing I’ve found is that I always, ALWAYS belong to myself…and that’s pretty sweet <3
Not sure what he didn’t choose. Happiness for himself, maybe. Devotion. Risk. Adventure. Intimacy. Who knows what he wouldn’t (couldn’t) choose. I do know that you need a partner with capacity for it all.
I hear you. I feel your pain. You are not alone.
You are not alone. The man I love broke up with me recently and I’m still so sad. He didn’t choose me. He didn’t choose me.
Kudos, Andrea, on your brave blogging. I haven’t experienced the pain you share (well, not in the past 30 years or so) but I can so relate to your vulnerability. As an aspiring blogger, it’s so interesting that your post, which offers no solutions or silver lining or rainbows and unicorns philosophy, but just shares your raw reality, really drew me Thank you for being who you are, and I wish you peace and healing.
I meant to say “drew me in”
Bravest blog post ever. I’m aching for you, but let me say, the last few years I’ve been on my own have been nothing less than wonderful and I have learned so much about myself. Never would’ve happened if I had been romantically involved during that time. Keep being brave. Lots of love.
I’m so sorry. Life is so hard sometimes and lonely. I was married to a wonderful man but after only 4 years he died of cancer. Since then I feel like my life is one long wobble as I try to work, be the only parent to my 7 year old son. I met someone last year and after convincing me it was safe to life him he ended it suddenly. I totally get the grief, the desire to have someone choose you. I long for it every day. Big hugs xxx
I so appreciate you sharing this without a silver lining. Thank you for showing me what it looks like to just let the pain be there without the active resistance of it. I’m trying to work toward this, to embrace the hard parts. There are so few models for us out there. We need every single one.
Sending love, peace, and fortitude.
The painting is gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. Show more!