"If you don't love yourself, you'll always chase people who don't love you either." ~ Mandy Hale
A few years ago I was declared unable to work in January and suffered from anxiety and mental exhaustion. I hadn't listened to my body and soul for too long when they complained about all the heavy loads that I had carried.
When I was out at that time, the bitterly cold and relentless rain felt like a blessing to me, thankful to feel at least something. On one of these walks, I first came across an old school friend when he called my name before smiling at me.
At first I didn't want to chat or tried to return the happy smile when he asked about my brothers. He had known us since we were all children, but I went away, felt a little less tense, and felt an urge to see him again: "Call for a cup of tea when you're over."
And he called. But I wasn't there – I was fighting the elements again, trying to go through my confusion and melancholy. My adult son called me: "A weird guy with a ponytail just asked about you," he said with hardly any outrage.
I am not sure whether the outrage was caused by the fact that a man knocked on our door to see his mother, or whether it was because of the boldness of the long gray ponytail of the man his age ,
A week later he called again and this time I was at home. I greeted him and closed the door against the winter darkness. The house felt kind of cozy since he was there when he noticed my daughter's artwork on the wall before he took off his shoes.
I was sitting in the lounge together and was impressed by the way he rolled his feet lightly on the chair when I was sitting upright and tense on the couch opposite. I soon confessed to being unable to work. He said that he was also unemployed since he recently lost his father and his mother was now terminally ill.
The next time he called, I was outside again and pushed his cell phone number through my door. I paused and looked at the bold handwriting in purple ink. I remember hesitating before adding his number to my contact list.
Why did I want or need his number? Maybe I had found that he was also a worried soul. I sent him a text saying, "Thank you for your number. That belongs to me. "
Now we both admitted that we wanted to be able to get in touch with each other. From then on, the SMS messages and his visits to me became more numerous. But then he told me that he had been living with someone and their three children for a year.
Classic rebound stuff – he moved to her immediately after a twenty-six year relationship ended. Of course I did the decent thing and said we couldn't see each other anymore. I wish I could have been angry and outraged, but instead my vulnerable self collapsed a little when he hugged me to hug me.
I blamed myself for being in this position when I was in the midst of so much mental and emotional turmoil. I had survived the separation of a marriage and another long-term partnership – I said to myself that I could definitely recover from a week-long break.
"I need a hug," the message beeped. I do, too, I thought, but my determination was strengthened not to reply to his message. Some time passed and then another message came: "My mother has little time left."
His pain was palpable. So I put my needs on hold and made an appointment to see him. A pattern began: talking through the night when the rest of the city was sleeping; Trips to doctors and hospitals; Visits to see his mother together; He gets a soup in the nursing home. And I suppressed the excruciating question of where his "partner" was in all of this.
His mother died in March. Our intimate bubble has been blown away by the grief, practices, and conventions of death. It was his "partner" who stood by his mother's funeral in April while I was alone at home, deprived of the thought of his loss, and faced the reality that I had been thrown aside.
I decided to visit friends for a month to get some distance. I had to iron out my crumpled life to see what it was worth sticking to and what had to be thrown away.
I also hoped that he had time to decide whether he wanted us to have a future together. Looking back now, I wonder if I was so desperate to be with him because dealing with his pain was a distraction from my own.
"I am ready for our future when you return." I was relieved that he was determined to sort the situation out after all the emotional fears of the past few months. "Only pick me up from the airport when you're sorted," I urged.
The night before my flight, he still hadn't confirmed that he had left her. I had to know the situation I was in: "Sorted?"
"Not quite." I know, not very fair about him, do I? Not just for me, but also for his partner, who must have felt his constant distraction painful. I had a long-haul flight to think about how another month could have gone by, in which he regularly and frequently contacted me and promised me a future together, only to let me down again.
Jet lag and lack of sleep, I sat depressed in his car – hardly the homecoming that I had hoped for. I may be a programmed human lover, but even I could see that this would further affect my damaged self-esteem.
"There is no relationship until this is resolved." I ended contact with him, but I hadn't let go of him emotionally because the promise of a relationship was still on the table.
Finally he decided to see a hypnotherapist. He started telling his painful story. But it was still not fully told: he gradually removed his things from their place, but couldn't quite tell her the last line of her story: "I have to leave you now."
I haven't seen him in over a year when he tried to make his final decision. I knew there were three of us wriggling through lonely nights and tense days as we moved emotionally to the end of our story. I knew it would involve one last painful telling "It's Over" from one to the other of us caught up in this mess.
I always imagined that it would be him who called her or me. This shows how powerless I felt. It is now clear to me that the three of us were caught up in this network for one striking reason: we did not love each other enough to withdraw from this harmful situation.
I am so grateful that at some point I gave myself enough distance to heal myself properly. I now really understand what people mean when they say you have to be ready for a relationship. I grew strong and first learned to love myself.
So strong that I moved away from my old, unhappy life and embarked on an adventure in which I had the time and opportunity to listen to my own needs. I had been trying to repair a damaged and broken man for months instead of repairing myself.
Many, many months later, when I had a new life and started a new relationship, he appeared out of the blue and asked me to marry him. He hadn't quite left her yet, but would leave her that night. I said, "You're too late. It's over."
I am not proud of my role in all of this. But I forgave myself because I know I was emotionally vulnerable when he first came into my life.
After this emotionally exhausting experience, I learned:
You can only heal yourself, not repair others.
You will be treated as badly by others as you allow.
You are responsible for your own happiness.
Let go of the people who caused you pain.
Above all, never wait to start your life.
It was painful to tell you that; being reminded of how little I valued my own needs and put his pain above mine and hers. I am happy to say that I do not recognize the self that was so damaged and broken.
I love myself every day and am happy to know that "nothing can dampen the light that shines from within". (Maya Angelou)
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