Saying the Words

 Tonight at couples counseling we admitted we are heading towards divorce and not reconciliation. At least I did. With prompting. A lot of prompting.

I haven't wanted to say the words aloud- I've resisted it. Like the time at counseling when it took WB an hour to say "I feel sad" and he dodged around the words as if they were daggers until he heard himself say "I can recognize, there may possibly be some sadness there" and realized how ridiculous it was. That was me, in my avoidance dance, desperately repeating that I was completely devoid of hope but unwilling to pull the trigger in saying what that lack of hope meant and instead showing up week after painful week through gaslighting and manipulation, stress hives and neck pain, and constant fight or flight in my body. 

But tonight I stayed mostly centered. Tonight I trusted in my own knowing instead of letting someone else's story of me become my own that I carried like the heaviest weight around this very injured (both literally and metaphorically) neck.

And with the words came both freedom and epic grief. Heartbreak.

He asked, in a way that sounded like an accusation (as is his custom....the way I imagine one of those giant pointing foam fingers would sound if they could talk. And if they had massive trust issues. And completely unprocessed childhood trauma. Of the foam variety) what specifically was heartbreaking to me. I didn't even know how to answer that. I didn't understand the question. I mean, everything. Everything about it is heartbreaking. He asked, in his foam finger voice, how I could be heartbroken if I had no hope left. 

I'm not sure if it was his way of trying to say he still wanted to fight for the marriage, or if he was just trying to still lash out at me, but either way it was this incredibly sad and crystal clear illustration of what happens between us. Badgering the witness to list the exact nature of the heartbreak, in bullet points with footnotes, isn't helpful in any way. The only way to move in any direction before being swallowed entirely by quicksand is empathy and compassion. For ourselves as well as for each other. 

I won't engage in the who is right battle anymore. That will continue for lifetimes if we let it, and I don't have any more flesh to amputate. Really I just want peace. Empathy. Compassion. I want my confidence back. I want to hear my own knowing louder than someone else's deeply damaging story. I want to honor the knowing in my body (the body always knows) that has been screaming for years now. I want to live in self trust rather than fear and doubt. The view is so much better. Location location location. 

But tonight, I'm trying to sit compassionately with my deep grief. No foam fingers allowed,