Honesty Pants

This week, I’ve finally reached the inevitable dead end called decision-making-time.

I’ve had to make some tough decisions that some believe will disqualify me from my destiny.
But I don’t really believe in destiny.

I believe in the Divine.

But in this decision, I feel like I’m breaking up with a boyfriend who I’ve been dating for the past 14 years. A relationship that was good until recently it became abusive. A relationship that was going to end sometime, but not soon enough – a relationship that had blown every part of who I am to bits.

And right now, people are telling me to stick this relationship out – because maybe then I’ll miss the exit of regret and drive into healing. And maybe then, maybe at that place, everything that was bitter will be sweet again. Maybe then I’ll be in one piece.

But the problem is, I can’t even find the pieces of me – much less put them back together.

I’ve realized I am grieving the loss of something that was once rich and meaningful and brought me joy. But now it’s not any of those things. Now, it’s just a bitter time bomb waiting to explode but at this moment, it’s leaking and filling the air with poisonous resentment that first damages my heart and then my mind.

And I’m realizing that having to say goodbye and give it up when it’s become so bitter is harder than having to say goodbye to it when it’s good. Because as you give the bitter up, you also give up the better. You give up the thing inside of you that wanted to see it unbroken, the thing inside of you that would have done anything to make it different, make it sparkle, make it your own again.

And so now I feel abandoned at the edge of the bank, empty handed and broken-hearted.
And I’m learning that the most painful process is digging your own two fingers inside yourself to remove the glass that someone else put there. I’m learning that it’s really hard to wait for healing. It’s hard to ask for patience in your impatience when you’re left feeling like none of it mattered. Like none of the pain was significant to any other human life – much less your own.

And most days it feels like the rock didn’t drop into the pond and make ripples on the top of the water. Most days it feels like the rock just dropped on my head and crushed me and my dreams to the consistency of the dirt that was once under my feet.

If you can identify with that, you’ll also be able to identify with this: anger. After everything is done, you’re not left with a solution, a band-aid, a sweet word of affirmation, or an answer – you’re just left with anger. And you are so terribly angry – more resentful than you’d like to believe, more than you’d like to admit.

In your anger all you want, at this moment, is not to heal, but just to feel numb. To feel safe. All you want is just not feel anything for a little while. To just not have to risk any other part of yourself. To stay right where you are because it’s even though it’s painful, it’s safe. And even though it’s miserable, it’s comfortable and you’re good at what you do here and excellent in how you do it. And there isn’t a part left in you that believes that this could be good – much less from God, because He sure as heck didn’t get your message about what you wanted the first time and you’re sure He doesn’t care about any of it now.

So instead of having possibilities and unique opportunities ahead of you, letting go of what you know merely means life will inevitably plop you down on a dirt road that only leads to regret.

And everyone is so afraid of regret, so quick to offer advice that says to avoid it like it's cancer – do everything in your power to not cross paths with it.

But I believe that regret is the bastard child of fear.
Today, I choose not to believe in regret.

Because regret is the harsh and unforgiving brick wall that you slam into when you’re running full speed ahead and are foolish enough to look back at the painful what was, the ever illusive what could have been, and the worthless what should have been. And the whole time, the only thing your eyes needed to be watching was the promising horizon of a new sunrise - the kindness of an orange and pink good morning that puts to rest the 'what if's' and celebrates the 'what is'.

I believe Ben Rector says it best:

“And you find you're holding on
To everything you know
But the strength to move beyond
Is found in letting go”