I’m on a road trip. I set out from Los Angeles at the end of May, and I’m writing this in a friend’s beautiful studio apartment in Brooklyn. Over the last month I’ve camped under the stars, reconnected with old friends, started a new podcast, had some sexy dates, and danced my ass off at several brilliant shows. I’ve also wept, raged, and laid wide awake staring at the ceilings of guest rooms across the country. And I’ve been writing.
When I started sharing personal essays here, I was blown away by the response. I felt sort of nuts about putting it all out there, but I was met with kindness and encouragement. So I carried on, writing about the humiliation of learning that I’d been a secret girlfriend, being buried under an avalanche of shame, and owning up to the fact that I’ve been sick for years. I wrote about being forced into dealing with my own bullshit by a bad breakup, and about getting help. A lot of help.
The work has been working. My spiritual bank account was overdrawn, but my soul coffers (BTW Soul Coughing is reuniting!!) have been topped up thanks to the generosity and love of many incredible people. They’ve kept my head above water. Now I have the psychic funds and space to acknowledge how weird things have been – how death, grief, and intimate betrayal occupied a massive space in my life, while I was doing everything I could to not let anyone know that things were very, very bad.
Around Christmastime last year, a few days after the breakup that blasted open this new chapter of my life, I was at a dinner party. (Side note: my crappy exes both hated dinner parties. I wish I’d dumped them the second I realized that, because I am a dinner party, bitch; get fucked if you don’t like food and conversation with interesting people.) I was seated next to a friend, who is a therapist, and was pouring out my tale of woe. He listened, touched my arm gently, and said, Just let your heart break fully this time.
I’ve thought about him saying that every day for months. It made sense, of course, the only way out is through, etc. – but what an absolutely terrifying thought it was: to let my heart break completely. I was drowning, and he was telling me to swim deeper. But I trust him, so I did.
I like writing in watery terms, likely because my father and sister indoctrinated me with all of their fishy talk. It’s how I think, and dream: tidal waves, sea caves, rivers, creeks, the rolling open ocean; my blood, my tears, my stormy soul. Right now, I’m white-water rafting on Full Heartbreak River (forgive me, I know it’s corny, but it feels true). It’s a scary, exhilarating, grand adventure.
Last week I sat down to write after seeing a gorgeous show (Medium Build, go see for yourself). It was the summer solstice, the Strawberry Moon was full, I was feeling light and shimmery, and I desperately wanted to let go of the hurt I feel about this tiresome guy. I wanted to write about forgiveness, and how it’s really for the one who is forgiving because you’re letting go of what pains you.
I immediately got sucked into a current of vengefulness, and wrote late into the night about the day I went over to his place for our final showdown, to tell him what I’d learned about him cheating. I felt like I was possessed. Here’s an excerpt:
He listened quietly, denied nothing, and then told me I was the one who’d cheated on him ‘with a bottle.’ This guy lived with me through my sister’s illness and death, so I’d thought he understood something about grief, and coping mechanisms; he’d even called one of my best friends to ask her how to support me through my sorrow. She definitely did not tell him to fuck other women. When this guy told me that I was a cheater because I got hammered sometimes when I was sad, I could hear my Irish ancestors laugh, so I laughed, too. I said, You got caught cheating and lying, and you claim that I cheated on you with a bottle? You should use it, because that shit’s funny.
I’m not going to use it, he said.
I am, I said. And I’m excited to shed the ballast of a person who was holding me down while denying me.
That’s how I feel as well, he said. That’s the last thing he ever said to me.
I wrote pages and pages in a sort of fever dream, and then wiped my brow and re-read it. Ugh. It wasn’t anywhere near what I’d set out to do. Why had my desire to forgive spiraled into abject rage? Why couldn’t I let all the fuckery wash away in the glimmer of magic and gratitude that I was feeling in my new era? I’d been doing so well, moving on, letting go. Maybe the only person I can forgive is myself, I thought — not the guy who’s never admitted wrongdoing, or asked for absolution. Forgiving myself for not getting out of that relationship sooner is a life vest that keeps me afloat.
Letting your heart fully break is frightening. It doesn’t wash anything away. It’s a plunge into the deep as you scream WHY? This guy took advantage of my heart, body, self-esteem, intellect, time, family, friendship, my whole fucking life – but I’ve touched the bottom of the whirlpool, and I’m surfacing again. The pull along the canyon walls of this powerful river is strong but I’m not going to drown. There’s a meander up ahead where I can rest. There are more white-water rapids and a waterfall or two to come but it’s cool because I’m equipped with my life vest, and everything else I need for the ride (and if you like my aquatic metaphors, let me know because I’ve got a whole chapter on cenotes!).
In the last month, I’ve had the extremely cool experience of people who have known me for a long time sizing me up and saying something along the lines of, “I know shit’s been fucked up for you, but you seem like you’re good.” I do feel good, mostly. I feel more like myself every day, rather than the version of me I was trying to be to please someone who was rarely, if ever, satisfied with what I had to offer. I feel light, strong, and sexy. I love how my body looks in a crop top (!) and jean shorts with a pair of Docs. That feels radical, and like a return to form.
There’s one more watery thing I want to tell you about. It’s this buoy that generates energy — wave technology inspired by the human heart. The buoy is anchored to the sea floor, and as it’s slammed around by the back-and-forth and rise and fall of ocean waves, it converts the mechanical energy of motion into electricity.
Can heartbreak be converted into a power source? I say yes. That’s also when forgiveness will truly come: when my brokenhearted river finally spills into the sea.
I love you, and am so grateful for you all. More soon. - MJ ❤️
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I wish that you could post pics in comments. I'd post a picture of the river that is raging in front of my while I read this. Safe travels MJ, we're all routing for ya.