Running is my favorite thing to do. Obviously not physically. But emotionally. Mentally.
2024 was both beautiful and burdensome. I got closer to God. Or rather he got closer to me. He took my heart in His hands and like putty, molded me a new one. I never realized how hard it was before. I walked around as a shell of myself for years. I lacked the vast range of emotions that I have now. I was so nurturing (too nurturing) so empathetic (too empathetic) and caring to my loved ones and those around me, but it was impossible to turn those traits inward. I complained about not being seen, like truly seen. Or heard. Or felt. But last year I learned had I not been changed, I would’ve never been seen, heard or felt by anybody because I couldn’t see, hear or feel myself. And the process of being able to “sense” myself was a rough one. I walked around the majority of last year both heartbroken and grateful. How that work? Crying became my new normal. Something I would suppress before or simply couldn’t produce. But I found myself inevitably moved to tears often. For sadness, for beauty, for gratitude, for pain. And no matter how hard I tried to stop or suppress them, they wouldn’t end until I had no tears left to cry. It was as if the levees inside of me broke and I became a sea of a woman, whether I wanted to be or not. At a time in my life when I thought all my goals and dreams should be coming to completion, everything felt like it was just beginning. I made it to 30’s door with nothing to show. Love life nonexistent (I play a part in this); No baby girl when I thought for sure I’d be a mother by now. No fur babies either (rip Phoebe); somehow my parental pain deepened, when I thought by now our relationships should be the best they’d ever been. And my beloved Sweetie, the ‘08 Camry my grandfather gave me in memory of my grandmother at 23 took her last breath the week after my 30th birthday on Washington Rd. For a while, everything enveloped me. It was as if I was being made to bear the burden of my current circumstance while also experiencing the buildup of emotions that I turned a blind eye to for years prior.
So back to running. I didn’t think that’s what I was doing when I decided to take a 2-month sabbatical in Thailand. I looked at it as adult character building or an adult gap semester. I’d figured ‘I’m single with no kids or dog, my job just went remote, I have no car or car note and my lease is up, why the fuck not?’ Which was true. But I was running, and this was the farthest I’d ever ran from anything. I didn’t see it like that though, until I got to my destination and ran right into myself.
I hadn’t been in Bangkok a week before news broke that my old boo got engaged. Mind you, this same man pressed for reconciliation, and I repeatedly declined. Still, I hurt. I cried as if he hadn’t tried to make it work with me for 2 additional years. I cried as if we had just ended (we hadn’t). I cried as if he cheated (he didn’t). But most notably, I cried as if I owned him. Because in my mind I did. I didn’t realize how emotionally entitled I was until I got to Bangkok. I thought that even though I’d said no to his attempts to reconcile that he should still be available to me. I thought I should be able to put him on a shelf and take him off when I felt like it and trust that no other “collector” would pick him up. Was that delusional? Absolutely. I’m an honest woman. And an accountable one. I can admit when I’m being ridiculous.
I scolded myself. People are not placeholders Dominique, or rather they shouldn’t be treated like placeholders. Why do you think just because you deny yourself love and pleasure that everyone else should too, Dominique? Matter of fact, why do you deny yourself love and pleasure???
Sigh.
Still, there was more, because I couldn’t understand why I was lamenting so deeply. Aside from my supposed ownership of him, of course. I quickly realized It was because he had found something that I still hadn’t. I wasn’t ready to be vulnerable, but also, I didn’t think he was the one I was supposed to be vulnerable with. We weren’t in love with each other. We didn’t crave or yearn for each other like I’d believed was supposed to accompany love. I’d had questionable dreams about our future together (yes, I’m one of those) and I just didn’t feel safe enough to unravel. We had love for each other, though. I can only describe it as a deep reverence amongst friends. We trusted each other, could rely on each other and were comfortable with each other. And in my mind, that was love enough for me. But I believe parts of my upset came from the fact that he had found someone that (I’ll assume) he could simultaneously trust, revere, and yearn for, creating the love that missed us during our time together. And I was left behind again. Not just by him, but by my loved ones on their second child. My loved ones in stable relationships, both new and old. My soon to be engaged sister. My parents.
It wasn’t just that he had moved on and done something as serious as getting engaged. It was the fact that I hadn’t done the same.
My reaction to the situation gave me some insight into who I really was, and I knew I was in for a long 2 months. Not because of him but because I knew peeling back the layers of myself, meeting my now 31-year-old self for the first time and navigating a new country solo would be an intense journey. I had a lot of work to do.
