About six weeks ago the relationship that I was in ended. In
and of itself, that was bad enough, but there were some things that happened
with him after we parted that left me feeling like I took a sledgehammer to my
gut. I don’t really believe that he
meant to hurt me. Sadly I believe the fault originated with me. That, in case
you have never experienced it and assuming you have a conscience, is far worse than being the one who is
wronged. I’ve been wronged and there’s a certain grace in it. You have
everyone’s sympathy and you can comfortably be angry at the person that did the
wronging. If, however, you’re the one who said the hurtful things, the one who went
too far, there is only guilt and shame.
As a kid I never needed to be punished. Once during recess I
accidently hit a little boy in the nose with a board. It really was an accident
and he was fine, but I cried so hard that the nurse had to call my mother. When
she got to the school she found both the little boy and me sitting on the
nurses examining table. He had his arm around my shoulder and was comforting
me, telling me he was fine and that he knew I didn’t mean to do it, but I was inconsolable.
He went back to class and I had to go home.
So you can imagine my shame spiral knowing that I had hurt
this man that I cared so deeply about. I cried every day for six weeks. My life
became this circle of work, sleep and tears…red wine too, if I’m going to be
completely honest. My friends were as supportive as they could be…I didn’t want
to talk about it then, I still don’t want to discuss the details of it now…but
even without knowing the particulars they did their best to be there for me. Finally my best friend, having decided that
enough was enough, sent me a text message that said “All right. One more day is
all you get. One day in pajamas, in bed, with bad food and worse TV. That’s it.
Then you realize how fab you are and that this sucks and that you will rise
above it.”
And while I realized she was right and I wanted to do what
she said, I was totally at a loss about how to get back to myself. I just felt,
and still feel, so sad. On my nightstand there is a book that I’ve had since I
was 13 years old. It’s called Lilly Daché’s
Glamour Book. I started leafing through it, and suddenly I thought that if
I could just work my way through this book again, if I could just follow all of
Lilly’s advice, then maybe I could find my way back to being the woman I was…the
confident one, the one that didn’t say the wrong thing and hurt people. Maybe I
could even be a little better than I was before. Maybe…
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