Dear broken heart

I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll teach you how to sit in the pain and the sadness of it all. I’ll teach you how to hold the grief in a place of truth, because his actions say nothing about your worth and nothing about your lovability. 

Just because he chose her over you; lust over love; immediate gratification over long term connection; just because he chose all those things doesn’t mean you aren’t beautiful and brilliant and caring and kind. You are and always will be enough. 

The good thing about broken things is that God knows how to mend them. And while we have faith that he can do it, sometimes we have to learn to sit in the pain until He will. He isn’t waiting to heal you because He wants to punish you. No- He knows that those who feel deep hurt likewise have a great capacity to love.

And you know how to love deeply, don’t you. 

Your healing will take the Saviour’s love and perhaps hours and days and years. And I will sit here and grieve with you over the dates you never had, the dances you never danced, the pastries you never made, the children you never created, and the love you felt begin to fade. I will help you know that because the grief makes sense, the hurt makes sense, the pain feels real, the ache doesn’t leave... it all means that you are a wonderful individual with righteous desires and a beautiful heart. 

And a whole lot of grief. 

And you know something? That’s okay. 

Pain.

 It hurts too badly, yet I can't stop it from coming. The memories flash back in my mind as fast as the sunlight can hit my skin, bringing tears into my eyes as fast as a shooting star in the night sky. Yet unlike the sunlight and the stars in the sky . . . these memories leave only emptiness in their wake. 

The TV. . . . . . Merlin. . . we watched it together because it was the only activity I could think of to do together at the time. He wasn't keen on connecting in other ways, so I suggested we do something he enjoys doing. We watched a whole television series together. He and I.

Bacon. Eggs benedict. As I walk through the store, looking for the ingredients to create new memories with one of my favorite foods to eat with him, I remember back to the times we would make it together. I would save up and splurge a little bit to buy the best kind of bacon. The kind he loved. This time, I wanted to make it for my sisters and I on Valentine's day . . . wanted to make a new memory with it. We made it so often, he and I. 

A hug. One of my friends hugs me and my roommates, thanking us for a gift we have given to him. It's such a wonderful hug. I haven't been hugged that way by a man in a very long time. And I miss it. His arms, wrapped around me, pulling me close, helping me to feel less afraid. I hugged him every chance I got, even after he would relapse, even after we had an argument, even ....that day that I left him. I tried, I gave it my all, I gave him my heart. We used to hug each other, he and I. 

Sometimes the pain comes back with such force that tears are instantly in my eyes. I can't break the memory. The images are too powerful. The feelings so real. Yet someday, when little moments in my life trigger memories and flashbacks, I'll have the capacity to feel them and let them pass through me. . . . Someday, I'll be strong enough to recognize the grief without giving it power over me. For now, I'm trying to be brave and not let it sit inside of me. I'm trying to have courage to talk about it. 

But - the pain, the pain is suffocating. 

The songs I cannot sing

I open my mouth to tell you my dreams,

I try forming words, though futile it seems,

I ask you for aid and offer it back,

I give you my love, though it’s yours that I lack. 

I opened my heart, though clumsily done,

You opened your arms and by dancing, you won

I entrusted my feelings and my heart - nothing less,

Yet wondered...does love truly feel like this?

I wasn’t so sure how to cope with my pain - 

The pain of the distance and love that seemed feigned. 

I hoped that you loved me, though your words cut so deep, 

And I refused to believe that you’d do that to me.

But you did and it hurt. And I wished that instead 

You’d physically wound me than put thoughts in my head. 

My dreaming and singing, it all ceased in time...

I stopped believing that your hand would reach out for mine. 

Though I hoped for connection, no love can be forced,

So my silence and hopeless discouragement got worse...

I know I’m imperfect, if only you could know 

How over and over I’ve wept on my own 

To go back and hug my childlike past

And tell her to trust God, the darkness won’t last.

Yet over and over, I’ve wept on my own 

And wondered, but why did you never come home? 

Didn’t you love me, didn’t you....love me 

I’ve wept and I’ve wept, but you won’t ever see...

I sing now and dream now and open my heart 

And little by little the healing can start 

And yet, there’s a sadness no lyric can compose 

A song I can’t sing... and none but Christ knows.

The heart of it all.

 I turned 27 recently. 

Yes, you saw that sentence correctly. I had a birthday and I didn't put an exclamation point next it. That's because I don't feel thrilled to be 27. . . 

Truth be known, I feel like my world is ending; like I've lost all opportunity to do what I want to do; like there's too much I've already missed out on. I know, logically, that being 27 doesn't mean I have somehow surrendered the possibility of progression and self discovery (at least, that's what people tell me). But it doesn't help that I can't shake the feeling that my life is somehow already over. 

Sheesh. 27-year-old's...

But you know what I think is at the heart of the disgust I feel towards being the age of 27 ? It's deep and it's dark, but after lots of introspection, I have a pretty good idea of the source of my distaste towards this age...

The truth is I never planned to be here. Physically, emotionally, mentally . . . I never planned to be divorced. Single. Childless. Husbandless. In a job that is literally killing me. I never planned it. I never wanted it. 

At the heart of my disgust is the fact that I don't want to be here - in my life. I don't truly want this life. Yes, I have found ways to bring happiness and joy into my life again, and I do my best to take care of my needs and my wants, and pretty soon I'll embark on a career that gets me excited when I think about it. 

But I had my future figured out - not mapped out or planned out; no, just figured out far enough into the future that I knew where I wanted and hoped to be. I desired to be married during my years of college so that I could experience the undergrad life and trials with someone that I loved. I wanted to have children and start a family rather than make a career for myself. And in terms of family, I wanted to be tackling life and all of it's difficulties with my parents nearby - not clear out in Tennessee. 

I wanted true love. Romance. Honesty. Fidelity . . . I wanted a home built on gospel principles, and a husband willing to serve God, no matter what (which honestly - deep down, I know that he did want to serve God. He really was a wonderful man).

. . . That's all I ever wanted. . . 

And yet here I am . . . 27, not really living the life I had hoped to be living. I'm not mad at anyone - and I'm especially not mad at God. How could I ever be angry at him? He's the one who has supported me and walked with me and listened to me day in, day out. I don't feel mad. Sometimes I don't know what I feel, but I know at the heart of it all, there's something of a dissatisfied, disappointed, and discouraged little girl who wishes her life were just a little different. 

And to top it all off, something happened this week. It's happened before, but I don't talk about it often. You see, there exists these deep feelings at the heart of my pain, and this week they came back so forceful that I thought my heart would once again break from the pain of it all. Literal heartache is one of the worst feelings in the world. And I don't really talk about it because I don't mean to minimize anyone else's pain.

Many triggers built up and I didn't deal with them like I should have. Instead of letting the pain flow through me, I bottled it up inside until it kind of exploded. 

This week, when I stepped out the apartment door at 6:15am, ready to go to school, all of a sudden, I felt sad that I had no one to say companionship prayers with or give and receive a kiss of confidence. I felt this way quite often in my marriage - alone and going to work, and unfortunately, sometimes just the action of leaving alone in the morning brings all those hurt feelings back to me.

Another trigger came because I love to share, and sometimes just the gesture of sharing brings back memories of him. My heart broke when I looked at my blender and realized I wasn't going to share one of my smoothies with him. He really loved my smoothies. 

I collapsed in tears when I saw the flowers - the beautiful flowers delivered to me at school on my birthday - and realized that they weren't from the person I always hoped to receive flowers from. I love my friend who gave them to me. And yet for some reason, I felt sorrow that I never would get one from him. 

I went dancing. Oh, dancing. . . I went to create new memories, and I felt happiness like I haven't felt in a while. Yet it's still painful. It's hard to shake the memory of his strong hands, his smooth movements, dancing in unison across the floor . . . I miss it. It hurts. 

Sometimes when I lay in bed, I still miss his arms... even though as our marriage went on, he wasn't available to comfort me. I can't help but remember how he was able to talk me out of moments of anxiety and high stress. He wasn't available to do that for me later on in our marriage, but at the beginning? I wanted to trust him with my feelings. But trust is a delicate thing...and it has to be earned.

Anyways, all of us experience this feeling of literal heartbreak at some point in our lives. And the heartache I feel is likely only felt by those who have had significant loss in their lives. The grief from my loss truly does have such a gravity that it can infect every aspect of my life. From the clothes someone wears to the phrase or joke someone recites, there's no end to the triggers. My life was so intertwined with his that when it all of a sudden disappeared for good, there was no telling how long it would take to not be effected by ....literally anything. 

It's the loss of joy and potential happiness; the loss of part of my heart that I gave away so trustingly and hopefully. It's the loss of material things that I loved and of the dreams I've nurtured and held on to, but that don't really seem possible anymore.

And so, here I am . . . 27. Still feeling lost in life. At the heart of it all, I think I really just want happiness. 

That's all I really want. . . .

Picture worth a thousand words

In an effort to be ahead for the holidays, my roommates and I decided to hire one of my best friends to take our pictures. We dressed up, I put on mascara and lipstick for the first time in months, and we set off to American Fork Canyon. 

While the nature around us was breathtaking, the day was also rapidly approaching sun down, so we hurried through the picture taking as fast as we could, hoping to avoid freezing to death. 

A few days later, the pictures were ready for us to see. However, I had no idea how difficult it would be to look at myself . . . Look into my eyes and see pain that no one else was aware of. Yes, I was smiling outwardly, yet inwardly? Happiness was far from my heart. 

I don’t think I struggle with chronic depression. At the same time, I know that my life has been nothing but difficult and dark for a long time. I have made choices I never believed I’d have to make. I’ve survived different kinds of abuse, some mild, some so severe it’s left me in darkness every time I close my eyes.

And yet as I analyzed these photographs, as I looked into my eyes, not only did I see that darkness, but I didn’t believe that there was any happiness to be seen. Everyone thought my picture was beautiful. But I ? 

I saw nothing. Nothing of worth. Nothing of beauty. 

Now, several weeks later, I don’t know if I feel much different. I don’t feel much light or happiness. But what I do know is that I want to . I want to find happiness. I want to not only see it reflected in my eyes, but I want to feel it in my heart. 

My picture causes me to think of one word. Not a thousand words, one word : truth. My picture causes me to reflect on questions that tug at my feelings... What was I truly feeling in that moment? What is the truth about what was going on? What truth does God want me to realize and embrace as I look at my freckled, scar worn and red patched face ? 

Perhaps, then, pictures aren’t meant to be worth a thousand words. At least not mine. Perhaps just one word will suffice. . .