Look at Me the Same!

This is a hard one to write. Partly because I still hold tremendous compassion and empathy for a man I loved, and also, some guilt that should not belong to me. Just the title of this blog post grips my heart with tremendous sorrow recalling that moment in time.

Commitment was a serious matter to me. When I make a commitment, it is a serious matter because it is my very word. A promise made.

When the relationship began I made a choice. I looked at my life as a missionary and all I had planned with that, and the relationship with this man. The road of the missionary, in my mind, was a hard one - uphill with dirt and rock, and few living plants. Conversely, the road of loving a man was by a stream, surrounded by thick green foliage, winding through a forest on level ground. I chose the latter and chose it with all my heart.

I saw a man I could love. In the beginning, it was just that - love. But I also saw where I could help. I could make his life better! I could make his life easier. I could help heal past hurts. This in a strange way, was my mission field to give to someone else. And I eagerly took up that mantle. 

And I loved him. I treasured him, respected him. The problems I thought could be fixed by my changing to adjust to his needs, to make his life better. Sacrifices of my needs? What, in fact, were my needs? It took years for me to really know what they were as I busied myself to love and to care. And to fix. 

In time I began to wonder. What happened in your past? What has been done to you? It's okay whatever it is - I'm going to love you, and my love will heal you. 

Why do you dislike yourself so much? Why are you so hard on you? You are so amazing! Oh it breaks my heart that you see yourself this way. No - it doesn't matter - I'm going to love you, and my love will heal you. 

There is nothing good enough. Always judging and comparing. Questioning. "Why did you say that to me? What did you mean by that?" There always had to be an explanation. Why would I want to hurt you? Please know my heart. But it was never known.

Years go. My faith held. Love will win! Growth will win! I had such faith. I willingly let my own needs slip away, and gave all that I had. 

Until I had nothing left. I didn't even realize my cup was going dry, until it was dried and gone. 

Somewhere along the way I had started to see the truth. That my love would never be able to heal. And that crushed my soul to my deepest core. When you love someone you want them to be healed and you want your love to matter. And when you have tried and given your all, but it still doesn't heal, you are left with a hole in your soul that cannot be filled again. It is beyond faith dashed - it is complete devastation.

It had been years. To an extent I was okay with not feeling loved. But when in 2014 the dam burst and the anger was cutting to my soul, I started to realize I wasn't holding on as tightly. Maybe it was because I now had children to care for. Maybe it was just growth on my part and seeing who I was. I'm not sure. But suddenly it started to not be okay.

Then in 2015. Words shouted to me while I lay in the bed with a sleeping baby and an awake toddler. The face that shouted them to me - I knew that those words were not meant for me. They were being said from the person shouting them, about and to the person shouting. Yet, it was spilling over onto me as well. And it was pure hatred.

And there it was. I was ripped apart that day in the Bahamas in the hotel room. I had managed to be okay with not feeling loved. I had managed to go on for a very long time empty, and while I'm not sure how long I could last, I think I could have kept going. 

Yet I was not okay with being hated.

The next few days were a haze. I walked alone along the resort of the Bahamas with the most painful dread in my heart. I didn't want to face it. I didn't want to believe it. Yet it was a truth I had thrust upon me. The pain started so deeply that day. And I vowed silently, even though I somehow in the depths of my soul knew what would ultimately come, to give it one more year. I would not have any regrets. I would give it my all.

And I did. Counseling. Whatever it took. But during that year I had some serious realizations. I could not not love me any longer. I could not heal someone with my love, no matter how deeply committed or how much I loved. "My compassion for someone else could not exclude me" were the words my friend had shared with me. Had she known the pain I was in? Did she see and not tell me? 

And as the days turned to months to that year, my heart had pulled away even more. My faith that I could heal someone's heart was gone. I was alone in my heart. And then as if it were destiny, the firestorm again came that summer of 2016, and it was done. "We are done. Hire a lawyer," were the words said to me after the explosion happened. 

I had heard those words or similar ones, before for 9 years. And it was always to create a result, as I see so clearly now. I was so committed, so not wanting to fail, and so afraid of being abandoned. Yet this time, there was peace. 

"You don't have to go," I said as a last test to him and to the Universe, for God to heal us. Yet the answer was that to go he must. And I let him. And the rain softly fell, and the girls danced in rain puddles, unaware. And peace filled my heart - inexplicable peace. Sorrow, great grief, and yet also peace. 

Days. I had moved forward as he had instructed. And he returned. And his words stung me, and have never left my mind. "Look at me the same!" he pleaded. I couldn't. It was dead in me. And what also stung me, was that it was about my looking at him, not about his looking at me that way I needed. And I didn't even realize that until years later. My life so revolved around his needs that I didn't even know what mine were.

So here I am. Why does this still hurt so much? Because of love. Because of compassion. I never want anyone to hurt. I want to fix those hurts, those pains, just like I want to fix the boo-boos of my children. To make it all better. And I just couldn't. And honestly, with tears, I so wish I could have. I wish I could have. (Please God, forgive me for failing. I know the prayer should not be, but it is my prayer out of pain nonetheless.)

Can I look at me the same? I see a woman who has aged under the pain of it. I see a woman who still carries hurt from the loss of a failed love. I see a woman who should have never felt responsible for someone else, but did. This is who I have always been. Giving until it was all I had.

I wish for healing still. I wish for deep happiness. I pray for that for him. I could not be that person for him, but I still hope for it for him. I want him to be happy. I wish I could have been that for him, but if not, then I hope it is his still. 

"Look at me the same," we demand of ourselves after tragedy. 

It's okay. We cannot, but we can still look upon ourselves with love. And grace. Oh to give ourselves grace. <3