Can you remember your greatest heartbreak? I mean, that crazy, mind altering, kick in the teeth moment when you could, quite literally, hear the sound of your heart breaking into a million tiny pieces? I remember mine. I was madly, deeply in love with a young man who I just KNEW I was going to marry and have four (yes, we agreed that we would have four) beautiful babies with. We loved each other in a way that was reminiscent of something straight out of a fairy tale. But like auntie Anita Baker said, I had no magic potion, and no horse with wings to fly… Almost two years into my “forever”, it all came crashing down in a matter of minutes. He didn’t cheat or anything, he was faithful in a way that was otherworldly – In fact, if I’m honest, no one has loved me more intensely, more intentionally and more passionately since him. Which is why I could barely keep my composure under the weight of his absence. The details would be a post all their own, so I’ll give the abbreviated version. Long story short, the moment I realized it was over, I thought I was going to faint.
No. I’m serious.
Ok, I know I can be dramatic or whatever – but I seriously felt the blood leave my brain, and things started to get fuzzy and dense as if I was hearing my surrounding through a tunnel. He was gone and I was left wondering how I was supposed to just go on with my life, as if he wasn’t weaved into every portion of my comings and goings. I did everything – EVERYTHING – with him in mind and vice versa. He was my best friend. My-talk-on -the-phone-all-night buddy. My jump-in-the-face-of -anyone-who-even-looked-at-me-wrong protector. My homework-and -term paper proofreader. My I -have-no-idea-what’s-happening-in-this-game sports translator. My perfect-attentive-perpetually satisfying-master-of-my-body lover. He was gone with no way to reach him, no way to see him and nothing made sense, whatsoever.
Fast forward two years later.
I’m at a girlfriend’s house having dinner and watching movies, when there’s a passionate love scene between two characters. They profess their love to one another and pledge their undying devotion – and I fell APART! I’m talking the ugly cry and the spastic breaths and everything. I completely ruined the night and wound up leaving way before I intended to. By the time I got home, I was all out of tears but my chest was still heaving; I stumbled as if inebriated- delirious with grief, but regretfully aware of a pain that was so profound, I can recall exactly where I felt it. Right in the center of my chest; A radiating ache that woke up with me, went through the day with me and fell asleep with me. I could cry right now just recalling how real it was, how constant it was and how I had kept it with me so long as a thought, that it had manifested itself physically.
I was too weak and wounded to undress, so I sat on the edge of my bed trying to untie my shoes. I got one off before the tears started again. I was whimpering like an injured animal, and I knew I couldn’t keep living this way. I looked up at my ceiling and said, aloud, “God… If you don’t take this pain, this pain is going to take ME. Please… Help.”
Now, this might sound unbelievable, but no sooner than I completed my last syllable, that last “p” sound… I fell backwards and was immediately asleep. It wasn’t a normal night of sleep, either… It was instant, dreamless and uninterrupted by any and everything that happened in the hallways and apartments surrounding mine. I had a roommate at the time, and even her stirrings didn’t wake me. Almost like I had been placed under anesthesia. When I finally did wake up, I realized I had slept in my clothes and shook my head to ward off the flood of embarrassment that had begun sweeping over me. My friends knew what I had been going through, but it has been two years and I know they were worried that my sensitive nature would keep me susceptible to random moments of weeping. And ultimately the stick in the mud friend that nobody wanted around. I sat up and started to pull myself together to get about my day, and I did just that – went about my day. It wasn’t until later that evening that I realized a miracle had happened.
I got into a conversation with a friend, and she mentioned B_____’s name by accident, and quickly apologized, knowing that I was tender about even hearing it. But before I could think, I said, “Oh it’s ok…”
It’s ok??!?!!? No. That couldn’t be true. It wasn’t ok, was it?
Nah. I needed a test.
Even later that night, I decided to listen to a song that I used to sing to B_______. I waited for tears to come, but they refused me. The song ended, and all I had were the fond memories and not the sound of my own crying. Oh. My. God. It was gone.
This was my moment. This was that profound space of time when I realized that the day that it STOPPED hurting deserved just as much attention, if not more, than the day that it STARTED. Years later, I had spoken to him again. And again a few times after that. There was even the day when he explained what happened from HIS perspective accompanied by a heartfelt apology. Because I was truly healed before we spoke, I was able to hear his voice, his affectionate words and his profession of love… comprehend it… receive and compartmentalize it WITHOUT the longing to try again.
When I talk to people about heartbreak, emotional baggage and getting closure, I immediately acknowledge that my circumstances were very unique. But I also acknowledge the fact that my pain is equally as common. More often than not, these types of situations are either a revolving door of emotions and promises – But when someone makes a choice to heal, it takes on a different face. We’ve been taught in society and in church and in conversations to sensationalize the date of an injury because that is our reference point for healing and the rudder that steers our conversations. Pain is a commonality amongst us… We can all point to someone or something that has hurt us, and if that is where we start in conversation then we feel comfortable knowing that hurt is universal and that we can talk about it forever without having to let it go.
I believe that it is imperative that we pay more attention to the day the hurt dissipated. This isn’t to deny that it ever hurt or to skip steps in the healing process. But we should honor the day when we came to realize that it didn’t hurt anymore. Not because the pain wasn’t real, but because that moment of healing acts as a portal to a new set of experiences and ideals. We must give the same credence to the day that we overcome… so that we can look back at what previously stood in our way, and face forward with a new, hopeful and bright anticipation of the future. Things may hurt again… but this time, mark the start and end date. And in doing so, you’ll never see pain quite the same way again.
Here's The Truth! 