I’ve been in a bit of a funk this week. If I were a character in a comic book, I’d have walked around for the first half of the week with a furrowed brow and clouds above my head with a lightning bolt piercing right through the middle.
The dark clouds seem to be finally clearing now, though, and actually we got treated to a glorious blue sky today in France, so that surely helped. But funks can be useful if they don’t stick around too long. They leave room for introspection. Sure it starts out all dark and aggro and grim, but pretty soon you get down to the good stuff. The meat of it, if you will. And I’ve been translating a rather dry report, so plenty of opportunity for some part of mind to wander off.
Lots and lots of stuff came up about all sorts of things, but through it all I realised that today is a rather significant date for me. The 6th of March. You see, on this day exactly ten years ago today, I was supposed to be getting married.
It was supposed to be a rather simple affair in a family friend’s gorgeous garden. I’d picked out my dress – nothing fancy, just a white below-the-knee fifties style strappy dress with a few tasteful splashes of really bright colours. We’d picked the celebrant, too, and had our first appointment with her. We were putting money aside, making plans; everything was going swimmingly.
Or so I thought. And then in an instant – the time it takes to read a rather short e-mail, to be exact – it was all over. The warm, happy glow gave way to sadness, anger, shame, hurt, and in swept the best friend to hide any evidence of the relationship, make cups of tea, tuck me into bed and hand me tissues. And then began the Marian Keys marathon. I must have devoured about 5 or 6 of her books in a row. They’re great for heartbreak, with just the right dose of humour and tear jerking.
Next came the anxiety attacks. They’d happen at any time of the day or night and I felt like I was going insane. And that’s when I realised that this wasn’t about marriage. It wasn’t about rings and dresses and nesting. This was all about hiding from the truth that my life was making me miserable and I was waiting for someone else to save me, to make it all better. Something else to focus on rather than fixing what needed to be fixed. And I’m so grateful to that man for being courageous enough to realise that it wasn’t going to work (although cowardly enough to end it via email) and for being the catalyst for major change and healing in my life.
Of course now I can’t help but take stock of these last ten years, wonder if I made the right choices, if it was all worth it. I never in a million years could have guessed this is where I would be a decade later. And I can’t help but wonder what the next ten years will bring. What choices I will make. Where those choices will lead. I just hope I can be brave enough to always live my highest truth.