had a run-in with my past a few weeks ago.

I do not mean that I sat down and reflected on my past.  I mean, I actually had to be in the same room with him for the first time in years.  It was very strange.

For a fleeting moment, I thought about how well I knew that person.  And then I occurred to me that I know so little about who that man is today, and how little he knows about me.

It took me a long time to stop thinking about him.  As women (in this type of circumstance), one of the hardest things to get over is thinking that we are forgettable.  Especially when it comes to people we love, either platonically or romantically -- as though the impression (I've made) was a complete waste of time.  

When my world fell apart five years ago, I (mostly) opted for silence, except to those closest to me.  I did blog a little but never in a way that I felt gave me any kind of closure.  (For the record, closure – and the wanting thereof – is dumb.)  I was broken and hurt, but in a different way.  I was angry.  A few months later, he emailed me and I had a chance to speak my mind if for nothing else, but to take away the fear and the shame. I no longer had to be afraid of this person.  They'd made a choice that I didn't want, but had to live with anyway.

When you are 2:2 in relationships, you have to determine that You are the common denominator.  Admitting that to myself did not come easily, but it did come.  I made decisions in the moment to step back and analyze, re-evaluate things, and not do anything drastic.  I was known for constantly changing my hair.  In the heat of my life changing, I made myself a 90-day promise – to not change my hair.  I needed something to be constant, something I could control, and that became my thing.  If in that 90 days any situation changed, then my 90 days started over.  I wound up not cutting my hair for over two years.  When I finally did cut my hair, it was cathartic.  It was finally letting go.

So much has happened in the last five years.  I cannot ever imagine [him] being a part of any of it.  To think that I ever held on to [his] opinion (and held on for so long) is silly and small. When I tell people that I know what God's grace looks like, it's  realizing what my life is NOT, and how blessed I am that God spared me (or closed the door in front of me) from that.

"This is what I know: we're all a volume on the shelf at the library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands…we are thickly layered, page lying upon page, behind simple covers. And love – it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together. A book is worthy of a strong embrace, but, too, you must be gentle with one. Careful in whose hands you put it. Layers, by their nature, are fragile things." – Deb Caletti

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