So recently it came up with a newer friend that I had been engaged in my 20s. It's funny how some of our stories become so defining, so integral to who we are. Having our moving van stolen when I was 13 and we were moving to Ohio was something that I thought and talked about frequently in the following years. Pretty much everyone knew that about me, for many it was the first thing that they knew about me. One day when I was in college I realized that I hadn't thought about the theft and the ensuing stress and trauma for a long time. It was really nice. It was nice not to be the girl who's stuff was stolen anymore. It was nice to have other stories to tell people about myself when I was getting to know them.
Anyway, in telling this friend that I had been engaged, but not feeling the need to go into the details like I used to, it was nice to realize that that narrative belongs in my past now too. I even decided to pull up some photos from my exe's family events that I never got around to editing or giving to his mom. (Mostly I'm just way better at taking photos than doing anything with them after.) It's been long enough that I'm hoping that there will only be the fond memories and not the sad ones and anger that I used to feel. And I'm sure his family will be excited to have the photos. We spent a lot of time together and I went to a lot of special family events-- birthdays, a graduation, a wedding, reunions, a funeral. I even helped with the house remodeling projects as his parents were preparing to sell the house they lived in. Some of those were while I was dating him, and some were between times that we dated. We dated over a span of about 10 years. (I don't want to add up how many months/years we were actually dating, it's depressing.)
For a long time I was pretty angry with him. Even while we were dating. I've been through enough therapy in my life (I was in therapy before we ever started dating) to know that anger is a secondary emotion, that it covers up another more primary feeling. I think my anger covered up sadness, hurt, and even loss. One friend said that breaking up with someone you've been that close with for that long is in some ways worse than a death, because you can't morn them the same way. And it is a morning process. Our lives were so entangled in one another's (in a good way) for so long that it's very hard to not know how things are going for him and what he's thinking about and how his family is. (I really love his family. But one sister-in-law pointed out to me that it would be him that I'd have to live with everyday. Not them.) There was also the profound sense of loss for the future that we had been planning to have together. I remember telling a therapist that I sometimes thought of our relationship like we were in the middle of a swamp. He'd told me about this great place we could go to--marriage--and we were about half way there and got stuck in the swamp. I didn't know if I should keep going forward to try to get there with him or cut my losses and turn around and go back by myself. I was also upset that he had "cheated" me out of a baby. (I was very baby hungry a year or two after we cancelled the wedding.) "But would you want to have a baby in the middle of the swamp?" my therapist asked. No, I probably would prefer to have a baby not in a swamp. No swamp babies, thank you. That's the problem with living in the idealized future. You forget about things like swamps. If only... but life is not like that. People don't change just because they signed a piece of paper and agreed to be legally tied to you. (Thanks to Aunt J for that insight.)
A word of advice from someone that's been there. When someone you know breaks up, DO NOT tell them "it's for the best," "better to know now than after the wedding," or "I never liked him/her anyway." All of those may, in fact, be true, but they are not helpful. Years later I can look back and see that yes, it probably was better not to stay with him. And yes, we probably would not have solved our issues by committing to marriage. And maybe you didn't like him, but I sure did and do and saying that you don't like him because... makes me wonder if you think I'm stupid for loving him and staying with him for so long and forgiving so much (or at least thinking that I had).
I saw Mr. O a little over a year ago. We didn't talk, he was playing prelude for a church meeting and we waved from across the room. It was nice. Much better than I had been agonizing over when I decided to visit the town I used to live where he now lives. Sometimes I have been a little chagrinned that he is there and I am not. I moved to Utah from there to try to make things work with him for the last time. Although there were other reasons for my move as well. It was my idea to move, and I knew that it couldn't be just to be near him. I was ready for a change and wanted to be near family again. I had told him that if we decided to break up, it was the end. I couldn't get on the roller coaster again, it was too exhausting. We'd been going back and forth for over 10 years, and I needed to be done, one way or the other. It took about 5 months after I moved for it to end. I was in the process of trying out a new antidepressant when it happened, and my sweet 70 something 3 generation family doctor felt bad; he was worried that the switch had caused the breakup. (I think he's waiting to fully retire until I am married.) But I told him no, it may have made me more irritable (we decided in the end to go back to the previous medication) but that the breakup had needed to happen. After we broke up, I realized that if I wanted to, I could move back--my room would be available soon as the lease was ending and my subletter wasn't staying but my roommate was. The woman who had taken my position at work had just found a new job, and I'm sure they would have been thrilled to have me back. I could probably have moved back and pretty much had my pre-move life back, sans Mr. O. But it turned out that I didn't want to move back. And I'm glad that I stayed in Utah: I got to be closer to my brother's family and help out when Ra was born with a serious birth defect; I got to work with a midwife and teach childbirth and breastfeeding; I got to live with my grandparents and cousins.
When I went back last year, it was good to see people. If I wanted to move back now, I could. I was worried about what it would be like to run into him. K thought that was silly when I asked her if I should let him know, since the chances of us running into each other seemed slim. But K wasn't there for the whole saga. Her husband had a front row seat to the first chapter. But she wasn't there when 6 or so months after we postponed the wedding and subsequently broke up, when I ran into his mother, who lived out of state, on my way out of work. And she invited me to lunch, and he was there (I don't remember if that was made clear in advance, it probably was and I was just too nice to say no. There was a large group). And then it turned out that they were going to the same lecture I was going to about forgiveness. Given by his mission president's wife. So there I was, sitting next to his brother, grandmother, mother and him listening to a therapist tell us to write the initials of the person that we most needed to forgive on our hand. It was a helpful lecture, she did talk about giving the hurt over to the Lord. She suggested that we write a letter with all our grievances against the person but address it to God. I was going to try that, but instead felt prompted to write him a letter apologizing for things that I had done. (In true Olivia fashion I wrote it on a typewriter with very little ink left on the ribbon.) I carried the letter around until I saw him at the library, and gave it to him without comment.
So it made sense to me that I would run into him, no matter how slim the chances. And I was pretty sure that he went to the same church that the friend I was staying with goes to, and that most of the Mormons I know from when I lived there are. (The world is much smaller when you're Mormon.) I thought about not going to church there, but I wanted to see friends. And it was ok. In a way it was nice to be on my turf with my friends, even though he's the one who lives there now.
It's hard not to be a part of his life anymore. I'm pass the point of hoping that I marry before he does, and wanting to see some unhappiness as a sign that he regrets the breakup. Sometimes I'll look at his Facebook. He doesn't seem to post much. Maybe he has switched his privacy (we aren't FB friends) but it worries me. I am afraid that he's pulled inside of himself again. The great irony is that, although I was not happy with the way he sometimes treated me, I was one of the few people he was totally comfortable with. I hope that he has enough of those people in his life now.
The hardest part for me, besides being cut out from his life, is being willing to fully trust someone as a partner again. I didn't date much before him, and it took me a long time to start dating again after. It was actually dating Mr. P, who is divorced, that helped a lot with that. We were able to help heal some of the wounds left by our exes absences. But PC and I have known each other for over a year, and it's quite possible that it will be 2-3 years before we committed, if we do end up together romantically. I'm much more cautious now.
But I'm happy with my life, and not feeling lonely at the moment. (It helps that PC and I talk every day.) And I might do foster care in the future, even as a single woman. I enjoy my nieces and nephews, and my friend's kids. And it's nice to not have to deal with the downsides of caring for children. The ease of long-distance calls and video chats make it possible to feel close with family and friends that are far away. In the end, I'd rather roam the swamp alone than with someone with whom things are mostly difficult. Someone once told me that love should be easy, like falling off of a log. I am wise enough to know that it does take work to maintain good relationships, but yes, it probably shouldn't be that hard in the beginning. And for the first few months, it wasn't. That's what made it so hard to let go. I'm not a quitter. But I have learned that there are times to move on and create a different story.
6 years ago
