A few months ago, I texted my support circle of girlfriends with a desperate plea. I was a few weeks into processing what I’d learned about my recent ex, his new girlfriend, the significant overlap in our timelines, the fact that he’d told everyone and their dog that he was not with me throughout our six-year relationship while he slept with other women. It was a lot! I feel nuts, I wrote to my Signal chat group. I feel worse now than I did when I was in the relationship. What can I do?
With help, I’ve been calling in all my resources for a month now — talk therapy, EMDR, conscious grief yoga, friendship, moving my body, loving my dog, and writing about a bunch of shit as I process everything. And I know now that this heartsickness is not what ends me.
Sitting with what is, rather than what I wish was, is uncomfortable. But I’ve learned about the paradoxical theory of change, which is that change occurs only when you become fully aware and accepting of what you are in the present moment, instead of striving to become something you are not.
I’m committed to shifting into a new era through embracing what was, and is: that I was a secret girlfriend for years because I didn’t feel good about myself. That I was willing to accept crazy lies because I was lying to myself, too. That I tolerated the person I loved telling me terrible things about myself because I believed them, to some degree (although I don’t think I’m a manatee, that one was really out of pocket). That all of it connects to a chain of grief that links back, and back, and back, to all the sadnesses I’ve never dealt with, to all the things I’ve stowed away in various moldy compartments where they sit, poisonous and rotting. I’m hauling everything out and looking at it, now. And I’m thinking about something my sister told me.
Last summer, a couple of days after my ex had dumped me for the first time via FaceTime while I was on vacation (he’s a wild one!), I was sitting, dazed, on a beach in the Algarve. I wanted my sister so badly it felt like there was a hole in my chest. Caroline died on July 7, 2021. I was with her when she died, along with her partner Walt, and our two dogs. It was a profound experience. She was a scientist, and she told me, when she knew she was going to die, that she didn't think there would be anything left of her afterwards, that she would just be gone. But she left me a letter to read after she died. I opened it the next morning. In it, she wrote,
I want you to find solace in the outdoors and the stars. If you need to find me, I'll come with you swimming in rivers and walking near the ocean. Under the sweet scent of balsam fir, cedar, and salty air.
In the weeks and months after she died, I looked for her everywhere. I would go on hikes, and walk by the ocean, and gaze up at the stars, looking for her. But I couldn't find her. Standing knee-deep in the bracing ocean on that Portuguese beach, I sent up a call with my whole being. Caroline, I wish I could see you — and a little salmon swam past me. Our father was a salmon biologist. Wow, I thought, what a neat little sign from the universe.
Later that afternoon, back in the town we were staying in, my friends were napping, but I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to walk to the market to buy supplies for the evening, to put up a little altar for the anniversary of Caroline’s death the next day. I was strolling down a cobbled street, dictating my shopping list into my phone, not looking at it. I said: “Cigarettes, new line, candles, new line, hair dye, new line, body lotion,” and then glanced down to make sure that talk to text had captured it. It said:
Cigarettes
Candles
Hair dye
I love your new life.
I stopped in my tracks and stared at my Notes app. I said, “Can I talk to you like this? Can I talk to you?” The cursor blinked on the last line, erased it, and typed a new line:
I love you.
Standing on that sunbaked street on that July day in Portugal, I was overwhelmed by the feeling of love. No joke, friends, this really happened. No matter what you think of the woo-woo, as Caroline would call it, I felt like I heard from her right when I needed it most.
As the truth about the past six years of my life with this dude comes to light, as he spins a new narrative with a new (public, this time!) girlfriend, as I piece together an enormous tapestry of fuckery, I feel something I didn’t expect: gratitude. The silver lining of the intimate betrayal is that it’s forced me into a reckoning I didn’t know I needed. Paradoxical change. Acknowledging what really is. Looking at all my rotten, poisonous stuff; etching my truth into stone. And knowing that my sister was right. She said, I love your new life. I can feel that it's coming, and that I am going to love my new life.
Tomorrow is my birthday. Today, I texted my circle: I am starting to see land, I think.
Land ho, bitches, one of them replied.
Land fucking ho.
I love you so and thank you for putting these stories and truths out to the world. This is medicine we all need. You are not alone. We are not alone. Sharing in sisterhood and calling out the fuckery gets us through the dark moments. That pen is a sword, a wand, a spoon and a stick that you wield so beautifully. Keep going. You are so talented and funny. Here for all of it. ❤️🌟🙌🖋️
I love your new life too. Land fucking ho indeed. 💚💚💚💚