In Which I Forgave My Ex-Husband
Forgiveness, accountability, no grudges
Excerpt from a book in progress.
“Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them.”
— Bruce Lee (Striking Thoughts: Bruce Lee’s Wisdom for Daily Living)
During the horrible, late-night phone call that happened as my husband Randy drove his belongings to his new life in Portland, I kept repeating aloud through deep sobs how stupid I was.
I’m so stupid. So stupid. How do I keep falling for this? How do I keep believing that the one I love holds the same purity of intention that lives in my heart? Why, WHY do I always, after all these years, believe THIS one will be different?
No more. Randy broke that in me. He’s the first love of my life to finally do it.
I still believe in the goodness of people and our Oneness. But I no longer assume people’s goodness will hold steady in the face of hardship. I now expect their own wounds and places of deep pain and hurt will come first, causing them to hurt others.
No matter how much they’ve previously professed their love, I hold no special protection. My heart will not be spared.
Knowing this is the final death of childhood. Knowing this is a loss of something that cannot be recovered. I mourn it tenderly…and that tenderness and grief extends outwards, to others. They too are unprotected. They too will not be spared.
All of us are in this together. It at once breaks my heart and opens it, coming full circle.
The final divorce papers arrived in early spring — after we had reconciled from afar but before Randy’s return to Nelson.
I called to let him know. I told him I loved him and this at once marked an ending, a new beginning, and a continuation of our love. A love that was always there, through everything.
For me, the papers brought relief and some semblance of protection. Also a sense of accomplishment and completion. After so much paperwork that was far more than “just paperwork,” I needed to succeed in a thing — in this thing. I needed to declare my sovereignty and feel safe again.
A weight lifted. I escaped a horrible cycle. I stopped being half the reason that cycle kept playing out in the same awful, predictable way.
Randy did not feel the same. He didn’t want to go through with the divorce and grieved its arrival and the ending of our first marriage. For him, the final papers brought fear rather than freedom.
Part of Randy didn’t actually want our old cycle and addictive, painful patterns to end. Part of him still believed we’d simply pick up where we left off. Part of him didn’t really get it and didn’t get what I experienced that winter.
His turn, as it turned out, would come later.
But another part of Randy did want change. That part of him knew that change was our only way out and our only hope. So he decided to trust me. He recognized that I was taking him back and accepting his sorries with wariness but, in the end, without pause.
When it comes to love, I am loyal. When offered apologies, I leap to forgiveness. It’s not something I “work at.” It’s part of me that has always been there and is instinctual.
When someone says sorry and takes accountability, my heart melts. No matter what’s passed between us, all I see is shared humanness. No matter what’s happened, I cannot hold a grudge.
There are parts of me that I hate on. There are parts of me that I’m working on and practicing with daily. This part though — the natural inclination of my heart to forgive — is a thing I love about myself.
It’s also something that has persisted, standing the test of trauma and time. I’m surprised by and even in awe of it. Also, I treasure it.
It is, perhaps, the greatest gift I have to offer.
So forgiveness came. And springtime. And eventually, Randy.
He arrived. We embraced. He said let’s never, ever do that again. He said I’m so, so sorry. He said I’ll never again leave you.
[Spoiler: Things didn’t quite end there. Follow me on Medium for coming excerpts from this book in progress.]
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