Cousin: “It’s ok to be scared. And there is no one to save you. No liferaft. Nothing. You are on an island with your Lil’bit. That’s it.”
That was part of an exchange between my cousin and me this morning. She’s in Australia and we haven’t set eyes on each other in a few years, but we text nearly daily. Her words often bring me to my emotional knees. I’ve been saying for a while that I am my own primary, but only in the last week has that fact become so obviously true.
I’ve been divorced nearly a year, but separated about 18 months. Thirteen years together dissolved in less than six months. It happened fast, as does so much of my life. In quick succession, I fell in love again; wasband’s (is that not the greatest term for an ex-husband?) girlfriend moved in with him and my Lil’bit; I let go of my new love; dated for a bit and decided to be single; surprisingly found a house to buy, and am in the process of closing before Thanksgiving. Happy 18-months-solo-one-year-divorce anniversary to me.
I sat in the Lowe’s parking lot last night and felt reality wash over me. I am closer to 40 than 39. I have a precocious daughter. My job is solid. I have zero debt, which is about to change. I’m buying a house. I am training again for endurance races. I could pick up the phone and get laid, but chose not to. I am surrounded by good people. I am alone. I am first in my life. I am primary – for the first time in my adult life – and it feels good.
Almost six months ago, I told a soulmate goodbye. The love is powerful and still holds me if I think too hard in his direction. I cried every night for 11 days, sobs I’d never felt so deep. At the end, once all my raw feelings were purged and I could smile once more, I put on my shoes and began running. The miles healed me to the point that I thought it was safe to date for more than sexual release. I accepted a friend’s invitation for a weekend in the hill country. It seemed safe. My heart began to bloom. I got distracted from me, stopped running, allowed myself to “cheat” on my needs. Within two months months, I let the new guy go. He was good for me in so many ways, but not without question. Letting go seemed even more right.
I knew, unquestionably, I needed more time to become the woman who I imagined being as a little girl. That little girl felt scared for being alone, but courageous. She put on her running shoes again and the miles are adding up once more. This time, that little girl is building with no one’s influence. The wisdom of the woman I’ve become is holding her close and loving her to a place where there is no alone, but simply I Am.