How many difficult things can you do in a day? I like to do only one per day. Then I can think about it, learn my lessons, roll it over in my mind, tell friends what I did and get their support and feedback. Possibly recover so I can do more difficult things, other days.
I sent an important letter in the mail, saying no to some harm. A breakup letter, asking for a year of space. I’d wanted to do a few difficult things that day, but then I realized–no way. This one thing was quite enough. More than enough!
It was rainy–how appropriate. My spouse drove us to the post office. I cried in the car. I’d brought my mom’s jacket to wear, for her love and support. I asked my spouse to park at the post office, and I would walk the letter myself to the mail slot and send it on its way, on its long journey to the man I loved.
Many times I decided not to be close to this man anymore. I was getting too hurt, I’d tried everything, and there are a lot of people in this world. No need to fixate on loving, wanting, and caring for this particular person who has mixed feelings.
He wants the support and love, and the stability I offer. But will he be kind to me in the ways I ask for? Nope. He’ll barely have the conversation, let alone do the things. He wants to be the responsible, non-hurtful person I kept believing he is. He made promises to give me what I need. But to no avail.
His magic isn’t enough, that relationship skills will materialize. His powerful idea of “yes, I can do better” isn’t powerful enough to actually change old, old patterns of behavior.
Yet I kept getting swept back, thinking of another way I could try and not get hurt. But it’s ridiculous. I went above and beyond.
Prayer, ritual, a message from my mom from the other side, conversation with friends and my spouse, peer counseling, therapy, a limpia… All that later, there I was, at the blue mail drop, letting go the letter into the slot, feeling it leave my hand and slide down the chute, to join other mail, to find its way to the door of this person who’s been so dear to me, larger than life, a giant in my heart.
not mixed feelings
My feelings are not mixed. They’re simple: he is the best, and I need to be close to him, nurture him, and help him have a good life. I believed that deep in my body. Sometimes he wanted my love, but not enough to do the work to stop hurting me. Coming here, he hurt me more than ever, until I couldn’t sleep, and my health was slipping. Giving someone 20 chances is kinda ridiculous.
The hurt when he was here was the worst of all. Part of me is still in the narrow bed with him, touching his sacred tummy, thrumming with joy and sexual desire, completely blissed. I got the thing I most wanted. But only for a very small time. I still don’t understand how I was not important or valuable enough, for him to prioritize and be real with.
But he’s good at throwing away gold; he has a ton of experience doing that, just with me. A lifetime of treating women like toys–how could we solve that? I had hubris, that my love could heal. Probably all the women think that. Of course we do.
My love is true–my tits are gorgeous. My pussy is divine, which he has no idea of. I would dance every day with him–I’d find his joy and give joy to him.
But his damage is more important than any of that. He’d rather run. Why give his heart to me, when he can move on to the next lady and see if she’s easier and will not need anything?
Oh, us pesky people who need things. Sorry–just about every lady will need something. We’re all difficult. I was willing to do the work with him, to communicate, form safety, do family. But his behaviors said no. Now all that is scattered to the wind.
I held my spouse’s hand and prayed a prayer like this.
Dear Mother God, thank you for bringing me here to drop this letter into the mail. Please bless me and my difficult choices, and bless the letter to arrive safely.
Please bless _______, and may he receive this letter in the spirit it was intended. May he decide to leave me alone like I ask. Thank you for all love, and the space part of love. For loving myself enough to say no to harm, and do something more healthy, for myself and my family and everyone who loves me. It’s right for me to say no, but it’s good for ________ also, as hurting me wasn’t helping him either.
Thank you for freedom. I’m happy to make myself more free. Thank you for the goodness of my life, and all we have. Please bless me to care for my health and my well-being, so I can use the gifts my ancestors handed to me, and do my life’s work. Thank you–we love you.
I walked just a little ways, in the light rain–I was afraid the mailbox would be stuffed full with holiday mail. But it was fine. The gravel crunched under my feet, and I didn’t slip on the wet ground. I always kissed my letters to him, but I did not kiss this one.