"Words that do not become flesh in us remain "just words." They have no power to affect our lives... We have to keep making sure our words are rooted in our hearts."
In recent weeks, I have often found myself spending time in the company of other women. Women who have lived divorce, the ending of a marriage.
These women in my life, they talk, they tell me to talk. To talk and talk about what I am going through, to get it out, "Talk as much as you want Sunny, say it over and over and over and over, if you have to, it's OK, I have been there, and talking about it helps." Words, so many pain filled words.
So, I begin. Releasing my words. The words of confusion, of worry. But, then I stop. I find myself in a place in which I cannot utter anymore. So, they tell me their stories. I listen to their words. I understand, I commiserate, I celebrate their new beginnings, and I listen some more. I lean in and recognize the deeply hidden pain behind the words. I cry on the inside, I smile on the outside. They see my hidden tears, we share them, those tears.
These words say so much, from this group of middle-aged women, scratching away at life, with joy, and anguish, and hope filled with dreams.
But then there comes a moment. When each will tell me, how much they admire me. They say, they admire my courage, my ability to walk away. They say, they know how frightening it is.
They didn't do it.
I am the only one within this small circle, who did the walking away. They did not make the decision. Their husbands were the first to leave. Many of these same husbands a few months later told their wives they had made a mistake, and wished to reconcile. Each of these women then tells me, she found her courage, found her strength, found her voice, found her words, to say no.
Why do they think I am the brave one? I do not feel courageous, I do not feel brave. I feel battered, I feel weak, I feel frail, broken. Yet, there is buried deep, so very very deep, that I cannot always find them, little seeds of contentment and peace beginning to sprout within my tattered soul.
With words, and tears, I search for a sense of finality. Too many years of not being enough, too many years of living a life filled with self-imposed unhappiness.
One day, I finally picked up the knife, and cut the shroud that was covering my eyes and heart. There is blood on the knife, I can see it when I look closely. It was not done with ease, it was not done with joy, it was not done without pain...this cutting away of the past, in the search for the future. There will be scars, so many scars. I am not brave.
I have no idea how it will all turn out in the end. I am uneasy about my future, I am uncertain and uncomfortable. I am frightened, confused, at times lonely, at times content, at times melancholy, at times, filled with small snippets of joy, but through it all, is that uncertainty that I try so very hard to let go of. I am not brave. I am filled with tears.
Our stories are all the same, only the details are different.
Edged in pain the words falter then flow, flashes of joy overshadow the anguish, words spark, and flash, hiding behind eyes bright with hope and dreams.Voice rough and soft, she feeds us with her newfound sense of freedom rising. The words flow on, pain's shadow hidden in the depths, continues to grow, seeking release from it's bonds, waiting. Words flatten, smile gone, eyes unseeing, words halt, quiet descends, lies easy, waiting, breathing in, out. Thoughts unspoken, pain's shadow stirring from the depths, unbidden lying in wait, its time will come, it always does. The smile falters, words cease, fail, the shadow darkening. Words spilling like shards of broken glass, flaying, cutting deep, the pain implodes upon her heart, each word landing with a glittering shatter, not hidden, slicing deeply, wounds reopen. Eyes unseeing, focused inward, shock at the oozing drops of blood leaking from her soul, glittering moon tears, pooling, spreading, the words lie there waiting. Cries from the past, each bloody tear a badge of freedom won.