I am a woman who likes totems. Security items that reassure me throughout the day. My perfume is one. Sometimes I even carry it with me in my purse. Not a day goes by when I don't wear it, even if I'm just doing laundry and staying home.
A silver bracelet I bought for myself during my 5th anniversary to a husband I no longer lived with is another. It reads "What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us." I wear this bracelet like Wonder Woman's golden cuffs, a visible reminder throughout the day that I am ok. That everything will someday be better. I bought this bracelet without imagining how healing could happen, and now, two-and-a-half years later, I'm startled to see how far I've come.
As proof of the healing, I had a surprise encounter with ex. It was Saturday at 4 p.m. and it was steamy and muggy. Who goes running at the hottest part of the day? Me, for one. My ex, for another. I saw him first and was surprised, but at the same time felt it was sort of expected. He's bound to turn up and I've stopped having the anxiety I felt at these surprise encounters. My bowels no longer feel like they are going to drop out of my body, my hands have stopped shaking, I neither want to strike up a conversation nor feel the need to avoid him. I raised my hand in a casual wave. He shook his head in double-take recognition and said, "Oh, Hey Kate."
The whole thing was so casual I could hardly believe it happened. Even more surprising, I felt no anger. No anger for the broken trust, the loss of house and family and identity, the financial strain, the emotional trauma. In fact, I felt like the lucky one. Good luck, I thought, a little sadly, my book will be on the shelves in two years.
Writing about my ex is a tricky subject. I am not trying to maliciously hurt him or ruin his good name, but at the same time, I have a right to explain my experiences. I have a right to be honest about the truth. And I have no obligation to keep shameful secrets to enable an addiction.
Shawn isn't a bad guy. In fact, I was telling a friend over sushi after my second e-harmony date, just how great he was as a partner and husband. He was the good boyfriend, the one who called even more than expected, who treated me at least on our first few dates, who was kind and in a way dazzled by my capability. He kept the house clean, he did laundry, we had fun together, he made me pizza when I had to work late for conferences. He told me to sleep in during the summer, recognizing I had earned it during the school year.
It really wasn't a bad relationship, except for the lying, lack of intimacy, financial secrets, and, of course, all that porn.
But my point, is that I feel like I need to share both stories. I'm not out to get this man. I recognize all his beautiful flaws and hopeless perfections.
Passing him running around the lake was like noticing a wound was suddenly no longer stinging and tender, like a solid scab had closed the painful opening, and it was almost an interesting observation, like running my finger over the brown bumps on my knee when I was seven that covered the scrape I had gotten a week before from falling off my bike.
Another totem I wear today is a ring a friend gave me for my birthday. I journeyed out of my city to the suburb of Maple Grove where we drank mojitos on her deck and she and her husband made me dinner and sang Happy Birthday over a candlelit chocolate cake (complete with jazz hand motions). The ring is a large silver flower with 16 little sparkling jewels in the center. I love it because it reminds me I am loved.
I love it because I feel myself blossoming.
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