Confession: I have been fighting with reality for the better part of a year.
I’ve been trying to figure out a way to write about this. I often bare all when it’s just about me, but when other people are involved, it gets a bit tricky. Truthfully, this is a third draft.
What I’ve come to realize is that the details of the situation are not important. What’s important is that I’ve spent the better part of a year trying to insist that someone be the person I thought they were, the person I wanted them to be, instead of the person they actually are.
This is old behavior for me. Dotted along my past, there are entire constellations of broken birds I’ve tried to save.
I’ve looked at this pattern. I know its origin, the original broken bird I could never save. I’ve seen it play out time and time again. In relationships, friendships, casual acquaintanceships.
I know how the story ends. I can never save them. We all must save ourselves.
And despite knowing this, despite the countless times I’ve seen it play out, despite having thought I had healed some of this, and put boundaries in place, still it got me again.
And it’s humbled me. In the way that the same old pattern rearing it’s ugly head when you thought you’d healed it and moved on will do.
I kept hoping they would wake up and see. Instead, I was the one who needed to wake up.
And finally, I did. And it hurt.
And I’ve been disguising that hurt in a fury of anger and outrage, self righteousness and how dare they. But really I’m just hurt.
And embarrassed. Embarrassed by my own misperceptions. Embarrassed about the amount of headspace and heartspace I’ve given this situation.
And so I am closing out this year tending to the hurt. And hoping to release all the extraneous costumes that hurt was masquerading in. So I can move into this new year, lighter and freer.