For two and a half years I had the voice of someone else telling me it was okay. Telling me I was smart, telling me I was beautiful, and telling me how much I meant to the world around me.
I don’t have that voice anymore. I am on my own now.
This is not a bad thing. As my roommate says, some people are in your life for a season. They’re there to show you something, to share something with you, and when it’s over - it’s over. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth anything, it doesn’t mean it was a waste of time. It just means the purpose of that relationship has been expended, and it’s time to move on to what comes next.
I didn’t know how to take that for a while. I could see it objectively, I could understand it, imagine it. But sort of how I felt about alcoholism and addiction prior to getting sober, I didn’t see how it fit into my story. I’m starting to, though.
Break-ups and being single are hard enough on their own. Toss in everything that we went through, and you’ve got yourself the recipe for a messy recovery, and I think that’s why it’s taken me so long to see it. I was angry. I was so angry with him. I was as angry as any woman would have been, but once the anger fades you’re just left with the pieces, and they’re not going to move on their own. I’m starting to pick up my life. At first I just thought that meant dating - for if a lamp breaks, the obvious answer is to go out and buy a new lamp. Relationships aren’t furniture, though. Life isn’t so clear cut. You can’t shop for love on amazon. It walks in when it walks in, and it walks out when it walks out.
I’ve spent so much of my adult life trying to fit new relationships into the spaces of old ones, and it doesn’t work that way. You have to start fresh, and rather than focusing on the reality of what is no longer alive, appreciate the experience it gave you. Memorialize it, don’t idolize it, and don’t try to replace it. There are only so many times in our lives when we get to experience what it truly means to love and be loved, and just because it doesn’t last forever doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, it’s still precious. I won’t tarnish you.
So now I’m moving forward in a new direction. Rediscovering what this sober life is. Rediscovering sober Amy. In comes in small bursts. I like John Mayer, there’s a quality. I like yoga - there’s another one. I have a sponsee - I am helpful, and the list goes on. Each day I discover or rediscover another piece of myself and slowly the feeling of love and usefulness returns. The broken pieces shift and start to create a new picture. They don’t look so broken anymore. Suddenly something new emerges, and it makes sense why the storm came through. I don’t see it all now, and that’s painful. I hear a song and think of him, and remember that wonderful feeling, and there’s a sadness there. It’s okay to mourn the important parts of your life. I can’t sit in those moments though, I can’t wallow and wish for what will never return. I can appreciate it, though. I can appreciate the interests you introduced me to, for those experiences became a part of who I am today.
Still I wonder. What is the rest, though? What comes next, though? What will these pieces reveal? And there’s the catch, perhaps the beauty of life. We don’t know. These broken pieces aren’t tea leaves. I’m not a psychic, no amount of burning sage or incense or spirit animal tarot cards will reveal what comes next. I just have to wait, and take it day by day, and try to find what I love. Try to find that light on my own, and when I do, sit in those moments. Hold onto them.
The feeling a song gives me, buying a new pair of shoes, or reading a new book - these experiences and the little parts of me they reveal are what I have to hold onto. These small actions that lead to who I am inside will change the outside in time. I just have to wait, enjoy the ride, and find gratitude for this opportunity to start again.
